Tethered
by Cheryl W
Summary: For Dean and Sam the only thing harder than staying together…is being forced to be apart. No Slash.
1. Chapter 1

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: This story follows Season 7's "Party on, Garth". I had good intensions to have a good chunk of this story written before I posted it, but I just got anxious to get some feedback. So, as is my usual practice, this story will be a work in process. I'll post updates when I can and rely on your generous reviews to keep my muse alive.

Summary: For Dean and Sam the only thing harder than staying together…is being forced to be apart.

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Chapter 1

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Dean leaned against the side of the '75 Ford Pinto, tried to make his pose seem causal instead of what it was, him rooting himself into the spot with no intentions to move. Regardless of that imploring look Sam was giving him. "Why are we here?"

Shifting on his feet in front of his brother, Sam exhaled, then calmly managed, "You know why."

Dean's eyes flared with anger that seeped from his next words. "Yeah, and I said no, Sam." Didn't know how many times he had said it since the topic had come up but apparently Sam's hearing must have been affected by his brother's hangover.

"Dean, we talked about this…" Sam nearly whined.

"You talked and I said no. No friggin' way," Dean shot back, pushing off the Pinto to come to stand toe to toe with Sam. "I am not leaving Bobby's flask in some ….some storage unit where someone could steal it."

Sam couldn't hold back his smirk. "Dean, have you looked at the thing. No one's going to steal it."

"You're right, because it's staying with me. Now get in the car…" he ordered, started to walk around the car to claim the driver's seat. But Sam's hand wrapped around his bicep, the gesture alone stopping him. But just because Sam could stop him with just a touch, that didn't mean he could control him, that he had to look at Sam, to get browbeaten by the worried look he knew would be in his brother's eyes…if he dared to meet them. So instead he turned his head, read the storage unit's sign like he hadn't been there before, with their dad, with Sam….with Bobby once.

Knowing that it wasn't his strength keeping Dean in place but his brother's loyalty to him, Sam eased his grip but couldn't quite get himself to release his brother. This was too important to concede to Dean's wishes. Knowing that this wasn't an easy topic, was a painful request, Sam stepped closer to Dean, gentled his tone. "Dean, we need to be sure, do some tests. I'm not asking you to give up carrying the flask….just leave it here for a few days. And then if anything hinky happens, we know it's not tied to …." He didn't say Bobby's name, couldn't, not when Dean's head swiveled and his brother faced him, eyes pained.

"If you want me to get on the wagon, sign me up for AA, why didn't you just say so…" Dean joked, hoped to misdirect the conversation.

A misdirect that Sam winced at, because Dean's drinking, it scared him. Badly. Mostly because it felt like every time Dean took a swallow, he was shutting him out. Was silently screaming, _'I don't care_!'. And Sam was terrified it meant more than Dean not caring about saving the world, was more about not caring to save himself. '_To save me, he digs up an Angel, but to save himself….' _He bitterly began but pushed the thought away, of Cas, of the angel's sacrifice to save him, of Dean's sacrifice to seek help from someone who had hurt and betrayed him to the core. Alright, so maybe Dean's drinking was for another day's discussion.

Steeling himself, Sam decided to be direct. "You want to know if Bobby's here, right?" He didn't miss the twitch in his brother's frame, as if just the utterance of their surrogate father's name hurt Dean. It took more resolve than he almost had to continue, to press Dean into doing the last thing his brother wanted to: let the embers of his hope die. "Well….this is how we find out. We leave the flask here and pick it up after the job. Please Dean, I …I want to know. I miss him too and I want…."

But Dean gruffly cut Sam's words off, didn't think Sam felt what he felt, wouldn't make him do this if he did. "What are you going to give up?" That caught Sam off guard, had his brother tilting his head in confusion. "If I'm giving up Bobby's flask, you have to leave something here too." Sam opened his mouth but Dean was already restricting his choices, "And not your stupid laptop. Something _sentimental_, something that you can't stand to lose."

And that was as revealing as anything, was as willingly as Dean would ever be to admit how he felt about the flask now in his hands.

Dean's words, ' C_an't stand to lose_…' echoed in Sam's head and honestly, there was only one thing that fell into that category for him: And he was standing right in front of him. But there was something that came close, was tied irrevocably into that necessity.

Seeing the indecisiveness in Sam's features, Dean goaded, "Not so easy, is it, when the tables are turned. So you ready to throw in the towel and forgot about this?"

Dropping his hand from Dean's arm, Sam saw the relief start to wash over Dean's eyes right before he squashed it. "Fine, but I don't want to talk about it," he stated as a condition even as he crossed to the trunk, began routing into the depths of his clothing bag.

Dean turned to track his brother's motions. "Don't want to talk about what?"

Sam met Dean's eyes over the open truck lid. "Promise me that we'll wait to talk about this until this job is over."

Dean's brow creased, his instincts telling him that whatever rabbit Sam was about to pull out of his bag, he wasn't going to like it. "No. No, I'm not promising to not talk about whatever you don't want to talk about."

Giving Dean a frustrated glare, Sam huffed, "Dean, if you want me to do this…."

"I don't want to do any of this!" Dean shouted back, hand unconsciously fisting around Bobby's flask, to the only tangible tie he still had to the man who had been a second father to him. To a man that was gone and Sam wanted him to relinquish even his last keepsake of the man.

Eyes dropping to Dean's possessive grip on the flask, Sam felt his heart clench. He was being cruel, part of him knew that. But the bigger part of his soul, didn't care. Would be cruel if it meant Dean stayed with him, didn't get himself killed or wounded because he believed Bobby was around watching out for him, meant Dean didn't take some stupid risk to retrieve the flask if it got left behind one day…say in a burning building or something. No, Dean's attachment to the flask, Dean's tenacious faith that Bobby was tied to it, was there protecting him, it could cost Dean his life. And Sam wasn't going to let that happen.

Curling his own hand around the sentimental possession he had retrieved from his bag, Sam closed the trunk and headed for the storage unit door. But Dean stepped into his path.

"Show and tell, Sammy," Dean demanded, eyes holding Sam's eyes instead of trying to see what his brother was trying to hide in his hand.

And as much as Sam knew this day would come, he never saw it happening this way. Had wanted it to be under different circumstances, to be delivered with just the right words, words he hadn't yet figured out how to put together. Bracing himself, he met Dean's eyes and slowly opened his hand. He held his breath but his eyes never strayed from his brother, watched his brother's head bow as Dean's eyes dropped to what he held. Then he noted the tension that shot through his brother's frame.

Sam opened his mouth to make things alright but Dean never gave him the chance, never raised his eyes to him, simply turned on his heel, stalked to the storage unit, yanked open the door and disappeared inside. Silently, Sam cursed and closed his fist around the treasure in his hand: the necklace he had given Dean for Christmas when they were kids. The amulet that Dean had thrown away…and Sam had retrieved and kept close, even when he was running around Soulless. The unspoken symbol of their brotherhood.

It was the very last secret Sam had kept from Dean. Had kept it that way because he had been too afraid that Dean would deem it worthless all over again. And he couldn't bear that, to know that Dean had forgiven him so much but that they would never be the brothers that they once were, that they were twenty years ago. That he had destroyed that and there was no getting it back.

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The ride into the small Midwest town of Cooper's Flat was quiet. Painfully so. Dean had not said one word since he had left Bobby's flask behind…right beside his discarded amulet. Well, that wasn't exactly true. He had said, "Don't" in that warning growl when Sam had uttered his name, needing, wanting to talk about what he said he didn't want to talk about. And Sam had choked off his explanation, had sat in silence in the passenger seat.

Their pit stop to get a motel room and change into their FBI suits was just as noiseless. Like two spirits sharing space but not willing or able to communicate with one another. And now here they were, walking into the rural police station, side by side, pretending to be FBI partners, just like they were pretending that there wasn't an emotional wall between them that even Death himself couldn't construct.

It was probably their worst performance ever. They spoke over each other, gave conflicting responses to the grey haired chief police's inquires and generally looked like two people who couldn't keep their lies straight. Chief Fox gave them a hard look before he said, "My ex-wife and I got along better than you two and we nearly killed one another. So either you're new partners or very old partners."

"Old…" Sam confidently announced even as Dean sheepishly said, "New." And then they glared at one another.

To the chief's credit, he laughed. "I don't know whether to call you on your con game or just be grateful someone wants to dig into this death, that frankly, has me a little freaked out."

Turning from Sam, Dean pulled on his professional tone. "Chief, I guess it's obvious that my partner and I have some issues to work out. We used to work together and then we had other partners for a while so we're trying to find our rhythm again, you know." He gave a smile to sell the lie.

The chief simply nodded, not necessarily in acceptance but a goad for Dean to keep talking.

Refusing to explain his relationship with Sam any further to a stranger, Dean steered the conversation back to the fatality. "Anyway, you have a dozen witnesses that saw the man got stabbed with a knife and then…caught on fire?" though he threw skepticism into the statement, he didn't doubt the facts.

"That's about the sum of it," the chief concurred, running a hand through his thick white hair. "It makes as much sense as any of this. Sure, Brendal and Josh has some issues, what brothers don't, especially trying to keep afloat their family restaurant. But Brendal attacking Josh? I never thought to see the day."

That statement hit too close for Sam and Dean. Had them both dropping their eyes to the ground to ensure they didn't have to look at one another. Sam looked up to the chief when the silence in the office went a beat beyond comfortable. "So no sibling rivalry? Neither one of them struggling to be the sole owner of the restaurant?

"Absolutely there was rivalry," the chief began before he smiled, "when it came to girls when they were in high school or now with who got the most toys to play with, but over the restaurant? Sorry, you're shaking the wrong end of the stick. Witnesses say Josh was shouting that he was leaving town, that Brendal could have the restaurant all to himself. They say Josh was even trying to hand some papers to Brendal when Brendal just….flipped. Stabbed his brother with a knife he was holding. Everyone I talked to said Brendal looked as surprised as Josh. Then Josh…poof…was on fire. Brendal burned his hands trying to put it …_him_ out but it was too late."

It wasn't a pretty picture, seeing someone on fire, Dean knew that first hand. "And this argument of theirs happened in the dining area, not the kitchen near any flames?"

"Right by the cash register," the Chief answered. "Coroner is calling cause of death the burns, deemed the stab wound non-life threatening but I had to book Brendal and send him down to the county prison for Murder one. Doesn't quite sit right with me, so any light you can shine on this, no matter how wackado it sounds, I wanna hear about it."

In unison, the Winchesters replied, "Yes, Sir."

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Coming down the police station steps, Sam said with undisguised distaste, "So fire…" It just had to be fire, his least favorite topic of conversation.

Shooting Sam a concerned look, Dean gently asked, "You going to be Ok to work this job? I could do it alone."

"No, I'll be fine," Sam quickly denied, didn't want Dean to think that he was weak, that he was going to forever be useless as soon as a case involved fire. "Beside, fire is a tool of our trade. It would be like a fireman afraid …." He didn't know quite how to finish the statement without implying that he was in no hurry to get up close and personal with fire.

"A fireman knows to respect the flames enough to fear them," Dean allowed, giving Sam, not only a free pass for his fear, but justification for it.

Sam smiled timidly, knew exactly why Dean was making that statement. That no matter the tension between them, Dean still wasn't passing judgment on him for his fears. "So, we talking about human combustion, a curse, a fire wraith, or Brendal's a whiz at pyro-kinesis?"

"I say we see if Brendal gets hot under the collar," Dean said, rising his eyebrows until Sam acknowledged his poor attempt at humor.

"Ha ha," Sam grumbled but he turned away before Dean caught him in the act of smiling.

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Brendal Larson sat across from Sam and Dean in the county prison interrogation room, his hands, wrapped, concealing the burns he had earned trying to put the flames out on his own brother, trembled on the table. And his eyes were red rimmed and haunted and his words came haltingly, like he was still in shock. "He was gonna leave and I….I just lost it. The dream was always ours. That we would keep the restaurant in the family, would be partners and pass it onto our kids one day. But he…he had papers and everything to sell me his half."

Carefully, Sam inquired, "So you…stopped him from leaving."

Brendal choked on a sob. "I just got so….angry." A tear slipped free and he shook his head. "I never felt rage like that before. I didn't plan on using the knife…on hurting…" He bowed his head down onto the table a moment and when he raised his head, his eyes bled despair and guilt, "He's my brother! I wouldn't…I can't believe I …I killed him."

Trying to not be affected by the man's emotions, to not focus on the fact that he and Sam had been close to killing one another, on more than one occasion, Dean pressed, "But you did. You killed him with the fire."

"No! I…I stabbed him with the knife, yes, but the fire…it came after. Consumed him and I tried…" Brendal raised his bandaged hands, stammered, "I tried…." Without warning, he grabbed Dean's hands and his eyes bore into the elder Winchester's. "You have to believe me. I tried to save him. He was my little brother. I didn't want him to leave town so why would I kill him and send him away from me forever!"

The man's words lanced into Dean, re-opened the wounds that had not healed, would probably never heal. But who said they should, that he should get a free pass for trying to kill his own brother, for telling his baby brother that, '_yeah, Sam, go jump in the pit with the devil'_, for giving his friggin' blessing for Sam to condemn himself for a world that wasn't worth it, wasn't worth Sam's life, let alone his soul.

Seeing but not able to interpret the look on Dean's face and concerned when his brother wasn't shaking the other man's hold off, Sam intervened, pried Brendal's hands loose from Dean's. And then he slid his hand under Dean's bicep was hauling Dean to his feet, was getting his brother away from the other man who had attacked and probably killed his own brother.

And even more unnerving to Sam, Dean didn't pull out of his hold, let him lead him out of the interrogation room, down the hallway and out into the noon day sun.

They didn't speak until they were in the car, heading back to town.

"He was pretty convincing, huh?" Sam prodded, worriedly watching Dean, hoping to get a gauge of what was going through his brother's head.

Clearing his throat before he could talk, Dean conceded, "Yeah." If anyone knew what it was like to hurt his brother while under the influence of something supernatural, like say a Siren, it was him. And to hurt his brother for the greater good…like to save the world. Or when he lost his temper…like when Soulless Sam finally admitted that he knew something was off with himself. Any category that came up, he could check. Sam had borne the brunt of so much of his rage and hurt and misguided intensions. It was little wonder that Sam ended up hitting the road so often rather than sticking around to be his punching bag.

Dean's one word reply, it spoke volumes to Sam. Brendal's testimony had rattled Dean, badly. Sam just didn't know how. "So you think something made him attack his brother?" he quietly posed, tracking Dean's every facial tick.

Dean shrugged. "Could be." Then again, brothers were known to simply treat their younger siblings like crap just because they could.

It wasn't the telling comeback Sam was hoping for. "Could be, huh? You got no other theories to throw my way?" a ting of goading in his tone.

Which Dean did not rise to. "Nope."

"Well I say we check out the crime scene," Sam suggested.

"Good, because I could eat," Dean lobbed back waited for Sam's annoyed, "Dean, I don't think they're open for business" before he smirked, showed Sam that he was fine, could handle a little thing like fratricide without losing his sense of humor.

Catching Dean's smirk, Sam was too relieved to mock his brother's sick sense of humor.

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But the restaurant offered little in the way of supernatural clues: no sulfur, no hex bags, no sigils, or EMF readings. Just blood stains and ash that once was Josh Larson, little brother to one Brendal Larson.

And the witness accounts were pretty consistent: Two arguing brothers, one stabs the other and then Josh's on fire. End of sibling rivalry. Forever.

So it was to the motel room, with laptop and some of Bobby's books. It wasn't really surprising that Dean confiscated the books, was readily substituting the flask for the old tomes. But Sam didn't say anything. Dean had relented to his wishes about leaving the flask behind, he wasn't about to push Dean to give up more.

After two hours of hitting website after website about anger and fire related deaths and coming up with nothing uniform, Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair, eyed Dean who was on the bed, leaning against the headrest, books on his lap and on his legs. "You got anything?"

Dean took the moment to raise his head, massage the back of his aching neck with his free hand and met Sam's gaze across the room. "Maybe Josh toasted himself. Had a …chemical imbalance."

"He started _himself_ on fire?" Sam questioned, his belief in that likelihood evident in his incredulous tone.

Taking umbrage to Sam's tone, Dean shot back, "Then you tell me what this is about?"

Sullenly, Sam grumbled, "I don't know." Before he returned back to the computer but couldn't stop shooting Dean glances over the laptop.

Without looking up from his book, Dean demanded, "What?"

Slowly closing the laptop, almost stalling for time, Sam exhaled, bit his lip and then took the plunge. "You're mad I kept it?" Knew that he didn't have to be specific, that Dean was thinking about the amulet as much as he was.

Dean didn't look up or supply a response, but he turned the page of the book he was researching with a decided snap.

It was answer enough.

Reopening his laptop, Sam resumed his research…for about thirty seconds before he asked in that little boy vulnerable tone that he hadn't lost even after all he had been through, "Why are you mad?"

Still refusing to look at Sam, Dean bit out, "It was your idea to not talk about it until the job's over."

There was a catch in Sam's two worded admission, "I know."

And Dean knew Sam expected him to react to that tone, to fold, like he usually did. But the amulet, seeing it again, knowing that Sam had had it all this time and didn't tell him…it just brought on an onslaught of memoires he had thought he had worked through: Like Sam giving him the necklace instead of their Dad, Cas asking him to part with the amulet to find God, Sam's slide show of his greatest hits in heaven…which were all about him leaving his family, _him_ behind. Then Joshua saying that God was done helping them, Cas throwing the amulet back to him in heartbroken anger. The way it felt as it slipped out of his hand into the trash can.

All of those emotions conjured up by those events had hit him hard just at the sight of the amulet, leaving his breath crushed in his chest. The only thing he could do to cope was walk away, from the amulet, from Sam.

Dean wouldn't have been surprised if he was leaving a blood trail in his wake from the open wound in the vicinity of his heart. Because, after all that stuff, Sam had pulled the amulet out of the trash, had kept it. Was now sentimentally tied to it. And part of Dean railed at that, that Sam found the necklace worthy of saving and yet had no problem walking away from him time after time.

And now Sam wanted to 'talk about it', to emote about why it set him off…when he couldn't even explain it to himself.

Without bothering to read the page that he was on, Dean snapped the book to a new page.

"So we're not going to talk about it…." Sam hazarded, hated to think of the tension that would remain hanging over them until they aired things out but wasn't entirely ready to push Dean to open up to him. Not yet, anyway.

Snapping his eyes up to Sam's, Dean growled, "No." He didn't think he could make it any clearer than that without using flash cards.

Stilted silence blanketed the room and Dean told himself that was fine with him. Sam could be pissed or whatever he was.

But the last thing Sam felt was anger. Was too busy chastising himself for keeping the amulet in secret, for hurting Dean with his actions, for putting a wedge between him and Dean. Again. '_If a smart man doesn't keep making the same mistakes, than how stupid does that make me?_" he bitterly condemned himself as he returned to his research, did the only thing he could when his emotions were stretched to the breaking point: focus on the job.

Dean couldn't believe Sam was actually going to drop it, that his brother wasn't going to pull out one of his secret weapons: puppy dog eyes, hurt tone, unrelenting stare. Instead Sam's head was down again, his eyes zeroed in the computer screen. Dean couldn't believe his good luck. …except it hurt, somehow. That it wasn't worth Sam's time to push the issue, to come clean about the amulet he had squirreled away.

'_You don't want to talk about it, remember_,' he reminded himself, dropping his eyes again to the book he held in his hands. _Bobby's_ book. Bobby who might be around yet, helping them like the man always did, even if he put himself in danger. '_Got him killed, you mean_,' Dean snarled internally, didn't know why Bobby would stay behind, would give up even a Memorex heaven to stay with them, unless it was to give him a payback for getting him killed. But if Bobby was around like his gut was telling him his surrogate father was, the man was there for one thing and one thing only: to protect them…in death as he had in life.

'_Just like Mom and Dad did in their own ways_….' And that thought soured the diner food he had scarfed down, had him switching up books, picking up one that Sam had liberated from Frank's trailer. Oh, yeah, Frank. He was just another number to add to their body count. Tossing that book aside, he grabbed another, one that he himself had checked out of a library….back in 2002. He thought he might be onto something, when Sam spoke, his brother's voice a jarring intrusion to his concentration.

"I don't see any other cases of strange fires or violent outbreaks in town," Sam announced, eyes purposefully on the online news article and not his brother. When Dean didn't make a comment, he peeked his eyes over the laptop, saw that Dean was merrily reading his book, was acting like he hadn't spoken. Letting out an internal sigh, Sam returned to his research.

When Sam lapsed into silence after imparting his tidbit, Dean was grateful, began to reread the sentence again that he had one a moment ago. He almost got to the period when Sam spoke again.

"Brendal's got no arrest records, no juvenile files. By everything I see, he played well with others," Sam snuck in the levity Dean would usually use, hoped to ease the tension he saw in his brother's posture. But Dean's curt "'kay," hinted at hostility instead.

Dean was making his third run at reading the sentence he was on when Sam innocently said, "Josh, on the other hand, has a record. Apparently he wasn't the pacifist his brother is: few arrests in local bars, one for …"

Exasperatedly slapping his book closed, Dean tossed it onto the end of the bed and lanced Sam with his blazing regard. "Fine. You got my undivided attention," he growled.

Stunned by Dean's anger, Sam stammered, "What…what do you mean?"  
Dean spread his arms out wide. "The floor is yours, counselor. Regale me with your brilliance," he prompted with malice.

Sam's lips tightened into a grim line at Dean's 'counselor' quip, knew that his brother only referred to his failed aspiration to be an attorney to strike a blow. "You said you wanted to work the case, so we're working it, Dean," he volleyed back, his own ire mixing with Dean's.

"We?" Dean repeated with a scoff. "Wow, you're gracious enough to include me and my small contribution. I'm touched."

Brutally flicking the laptop closed so he could send an unobstructed glare to Dean, Sam spat, "What? We're working _together_." It was all they ever did: work together, eat together, sleep…well you know what I mean. There was no "I" with them. It was ludicrous for Dean to imply they were anything else but linked…at the friggin' hip.

"Really," Dean drawled, moving to sit at the edge of his bed and face Sam. "You're always bragging up every lame detail you find, you shoot down every theory I say…"

"'Cause they're stupid," Sam shot back, wanting to land a retaliating blow to his brother's ego.

Dean's eyes frosted over and his features got that eerie stillness that radiated fury and menace, "You'ld be dead a few more times if some of my _stupid_ theories weren't right."

"Yeah, and how many times did we almost die going along with one of your suicidal plans?" Sam shouted back, a list already being compiled in his head.

Dean became even more of a statue carved out of marble. "You wanna keep score, Sammy?" he lowly challenged. "Seems like I paid a pretty steep price to bring you back from the dead and risked more getting your soul outta hell than it cost you to return the favor. Oh, that's right…_Dad_ saved my life and _Cas_ got me outta hell."

Dean's words, his accusations, they sliced savagely into Sam. Surging to his feet, knocking the chair over in the process, Sam stood before Dean, his limbs trembling, his heart racing, his breathing nearly heaving. "You really doubt I wouldn't have done _anything_ to get you out. That I didn't try everything…."

"Like sleeping with Ruby?" Dean coldly interjected. "And when that didn't work the first time, what could you do but try, try again."

Fury and hurt assailed Sam, made his next words nearly a wheeze, "You throw that in my face…. _after everything_."

Coming to his feet, Dean didn't apologize, wouldn't allow himself to, didn't want to let himself open for more hurt. "And you still have your secrets, don't you, Sammy. Telling me Bobby couldn't be around and then going behind my back and trying to summon him. Keeping the amulet all this time, pretending it has '_sentimental value'_ for you all of a sudden."

"It does!" Sam railed back, couldn't stand there and let Dean say otherwise, believe otherwise.

"Why?" Dean's shout reverberated through the room, through Sam's chest.

Sam couldn't believe Dean had to ask, didn't know. When Dean was dead, he had worn that amulet night and day, was the best way, the _only way_ to keep a part of his brother with him. When he felt like just stepping out into traffic, on purpose, he found himself wrapping his hand around the metal dangling around his neck, clutching onto it so hard the sharp angles left an imprint in his palm….into his soul.

At Sam's stunned silence, Dean sneered, "You think God might start taking your calls if you hang onto it? That you might actually find Him, maybe at the next convenient store you stop in?"

"No!" Sam indignantly barked, Dean's wrong guess infuriating him, making him wonder if Dean knew him at all. Had ever bothered to get to know him.

Maliciously smirking at Sam's passionate denial, Dean baited, "Maybe you plan on giving it to a more worthy recipient this time around, huh? Someone who didn't call you a monster to your face?"

Dean dredging up those memories was a low blow, caused a devastatingly painful wound to reopen, made Sam ache to return hurt for hurt. "Well, since you think Bobby's hanging around. Maybe Dad is too. I'll give it to him like I should have from the start."

The declaration stole the air from the room, left them both facing each other stonily, chests heaving.

It was Dean who broke free first, crossed over to his duffle bag, ripped the zipper open before snagging all his shirts on the hangers and unceremoniously stuffing them into his bag. Sam had seen this scene before, the sight of Dean being too disgusted with him to stay one more second with him, knew that last time Dean had been the one throwing punches, wasn't so sure that this time, he wouldn't be the one resorting to violence.

"You're leaving. Sure, go ahead," Sam darkly bit out, like he actually approved of the idea.

Dean didn't look to Sam, didn't think he could bear seeing the satisfaction in Sam's eyes to match his brother's tone. Sam wanted this, he should have known that. But then again, he never learned the real hard lessons without them being jammed down his throat, over and over and over again.

Making sure that his eyes didn't land on Sam, he bid, "Good luck with your fire bug," as a last dig, heartlessly reminding Sam that it involved fire, this little case of his that he wanted to work on alone. Side stepping Sam, he made certain that he didn't touch Sam that Sam couldn't block his exit. But Sam never moved, to block his exit, to look at him, to acknowledge in any way that his leaving meant anything to him.

Dean didn't shut the motel door in his wake. And Sam didn't move to close it, didn't move, couldn't move at all. Not until the slam of a car door, until the sputter of the non-descript car they were calling home these days erupted, not until he could detect the car speeding out of the motel parking lot, down the road, away from him. Only then did he move, did he breathe.

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The RPM gauge on the Pinto was redlining, the engine protesting the abuse with a whine that filled the small car's interior but still Dean didn't let up on the gas. Needed to get away, be somewhere else, as soon as possible. To let Sam's words behind, to bury them, to pretend that they weren't true. That he didn't know how true they were.

The amulet was always supposed to be Sam's gift to their Dad. It was hindsight, an act of anger that Sam had ended up giving it to him. It was just another second hand gift, some hand me down he had gotten: like the car, like his Dad's leather jacket, like Bobby's books and flask. Things not so much earned as discarded. Junk that no one else wanted so he might as well have.

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Breaking from his stupor, Sam stalked to his own duffle bag, found that _Dean's_ coat was covering it. That in his brother's haste to get away from him, he had forgotten it. Angrily, Sam threw the coat across the room to land on Dean's bed, well the bed that had _been_ Dean's.

"Stupid slob!" he heatedly condemned to the empty room. Having forgotten what he had even gone over to his bag for, he returned to the room's small table, threw himself back into the chair by the computer. Typing with aggressive strokes, he continued to research the case, the case that Dean wanted to pursue in the first place. But the coat, it kept snagging his attention from the computer screen, was an ever present reminder of his brother's absence.

'_Like I need a reminder_…' Sam dourly thought. Had felt the loneliness coiling around him even before Dean had made it all the way out of the door, had felt the wrongness of Dean leaving, had felt the air in his chest compress when Dean drove away.

Two weeks ago in the hospital mental ward, all he had wanted, all he had clung to was the certainty that Dean would come back. That Dean wouldn't let him die alone. All he been asking of life yet was to see his brother one more time. To get a chance to say goodbye.

"And now you push him away. Great job! Quite the thanks-for-tracking-down-Cas-and-saving-my-life gesture," he muttered to himself. Didn't know how things had escalating, how one minute they were talking about the case and the next they were hurling accusations at one another.

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The road indicated three miles until he was in the next town, until he put the town of Cooper Flats in his rearview mirror, until he put _Sam_ in his rearview mirror.

'_Yeah, because that makes a lot of sense,' _Dean castigated himself._ 'Especially since, when you thought you were gonna lose Sam, all over again, you didn't think you could go on, wouldn't bother putting up a fight if someone wanted to end you. And now, now you're ditching him?' _

It was a startling enough revelation for him to ease his foot's pressure on the gas, for the car's speedometer to begin to edge away from the painted 80 on the dial. To feel shamed at the words he had thrown at Sam, for saying things he just didn't mean. Well most of them. It did hurt that Sam had hidden the amulet, had had the same gut feeling about Bobby being around yet and denied it, and yeah, it still hurt that Sam had found solace in Ruby when he was in Hell…even though he had no right to talk, not when he had laid in Lisa's arms when his brother was being burned to a crisp in Hell.

But all in all, leaving Sam? That wasn't his intensions, never was. Even when he had made his deal, when he was about to offer his prime piece of real estate meatsuit to Michael, it was never about leaving Sam, it was about saving Sam. About making sure that his brother wasn't hurt. '_Sure, why let someone else hurt him when I can do a much better job of it. Know all the right buttons to push_.' His jaw clenched as he recalled throwing out the words, 'counselor' 'fire' '_**monster**_'. It was no wonder Sam didn't stop him from leaving, instead **wanted** him to leave.

Even though he knew his apology wouldn't add up to a hill of beans, he reached for his phone, had to try to heal the wounds he had inflicted. He jumped when his phone rang in his hand. Felt his throat close up and his eyes well a bit as the ID declared that it was his brother who was calling him.

"Yeah," he answered noncommittally but his voice was hoarse, was a telltale sign of his turmoil to someone who might know something about him: And Sam, Sam alone knew him.

Detecting the tumult of emotions in his brother's voice, Sam had to swallow down a lump before he could get out his rehearsed words, "Dean, I'm sorry, man. What I said…I didn't mean it. Just …don't go."

A renewed wave of love for his little brother washed over Dean. '_Leave it up to Sam to say sorry when I started all this, struck the first blow.' _Foot easing up even further on the gas petal, he said, "No, I'm the one who's sorry, Sam. I didn't mean…I wasn't …I was being a jerk," he finished with, knew that they could both agree on that.

"Takes one to know one," Sam nearly singsonged back and there was relief and happiness in his tone, was feeling that weight against his chest lifting, that he might soon be able to stop feeling like he was going to throw up everything he had downed in the last two days.

Dean chuckled, conceded, "Guess it does." Appreciated that Sam wasn't going to be mean-spirited, was being as generous as he always was and was shouldering the blame with him.

"Come back and we'll hit a bar, take the night off, spend some time just hanging out…being brothers," Sam suggested and then held his breath, knew that he might have crossed the line, been too open, expressed what he needed, wanted in a way that would have Dean running for the hills.

"Thought you swore off drinking after that Shojo case?" Dean hazarded, remembered Sam's hangover had lasted two day. '_The lightweight_,' he affectionately mocked.

"I said we'ld hit a bar, I didn't say I would keep up with you," Sam countered good-naturedly, though he had no intensions of watching his brother numb himself with hard core alcohol, had some vain hope that he, at least for the night, could provide some comfort to his brother's weary soul. Owed Dean that after the crap he had dumped on him before.

"Well at least you're not delusional…" Dean snarked back, had lifted his foot off the gas, was instead applying the brakes, anticipating the U turn he was about to make, back into Cooper's Flats, back to Sam.

Sam snorted, was about to tell Dean that he let _him_ be the delusional one when Dean let out an alarmed, "Geez!" Then there was a booming thud, the sound of screeching tires, the unforgettable squeal of metal being twisted and then the shattering of glass.

And then, worst of all, there was silence.

At least from the phone.

Sam, on the other hand, was screaming his brother's name. "Dean!"

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Tbc

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Well, I would love to hear if you like the story so far! As you probably realize, this story will go AU after the next new episode but I'm hoping you still will come along for the ride.

Thanks for reading and have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	2. Chapter 2

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: You guys ROCK! Thanks for spoiling me by giving this story such a warm welcome! And with such support, I was inspired and before I knew it, I had this chapter ready to go.

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Chapter 2

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Trees weren't supposed to fall out of the sky, that much Dean knew. Not unless a twister was in the neighborhood. But it was hard to argue the semantics when something green and brown was suddenly plummeting down into the path of the Pinto.

Dropping his cell phone, Dean coiled both hands around the steering wheel and stood on the brakes. He could smell the rubber burning away and yet forward motion was still happening. At least for him and his compact car. The tree, it wasn't going anywhere, seemed as big as a friggin' Redwood and it was covering both lanes of the road, was even encroaching on the edge of the woods on the south bound lane, leaving him, literally, with nowhere to go.

Knowing the Pinto would crumple up like a soda can if he hit the tree head on, Dean yanked the steering wheel to the right, actually hoped that the car would go into a roll because that would be the good news. But the car remained grounded and all he could see out of the windshield were leaves and a branch rushing toward his face like a well-thrown spear. The shriek of crunching metal and shattering glass filled the car's interior even as he ducked, sprawled his upper body across the car's passenger seat. The sharp, blinding pain that assailed his head and back mocked him for not reacting fast enough, proved that there was no place to hide in the car's small confines. He barely had time to curse the car's designer before a black void sucked him under.

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"Dean!" Sam shouted again into the phone, nearly choked on the ominous silence that came back to him. Running for the motel room door, he yanked it open and ended up bodily slammed into his unannounced visitor. He had the foresight to grab Chief Fox's arm to ensure that the man didn't hit the ground.

"Whoa! My days of being able to take a punishing football tackle are long over, kid," the Chief joked, righting himself and pulling free of the taller man. Well, he attempted to pull free but the FBI agent's grip instead turned bruising, held him fast.

"We have to go," Sam announced, recognizing that the chief's appearance was an answer to at least one of his prayers.

"Why? Your motel room on fire?" the chief chuckled, but his eyes were narrowing, were taking in the anxious actions of the formally unflappable federal agent.

Sam's jaw clenched at the fire reference, knew it sounded like his throat had been gargling with smoke when he made his reply. "My brother's just had an accident." Without giving waiting for a reply, he used his grip on the Chief's arm to spin the man around and practically dragged him toward his police cruiser. But only for a step or two, then the Chief was moving to the driver's side of the car of his own volition.

Jumping into the passenger side, Sam felt the Chief's eyes rest on him even as the other man started the car. Facing the cop, he recognized the uncertainty gathering in the Chief's blue eyes. "We were talking on the phone and he…I heard…." he haltingly explained, knew somehow that the cop wouldn't move until he had more pieces of the puzzle.

Giving a nod, the Chief put the car in reverse then quickly shifted into drive, was looking for an opening to pull out in the early evening traffic as he asked, "You know where he was…." Even as he was certain that the young man did, wasn't the type to go off half-cocked and blind.

It felt like razor blades were coating Sam's mouth, the words cut so viciously. "He was leaving town…heading west…" '_Leaving me. And I let him go, didn't stop him and now if he's …if he's not alright….' _Sam closed his eyes, tried to shut down his emotions before he lost it. '_Dean's the best driver I know, can outmaneuver roadblocks and reckless drivers better than a NASCAR racer,'_ he reminded himself.

Taking in revelation after revelation, the Chief pulled out onto the two lane blacktop and turned on his lights and sirens as he sped toward the main throughway out of town. It wasn't easy to hold a conversation over the wail of the sirens or with a companion that was visibly trying to hold himself together but the Chief had experience in both categories enough to not be daunted by the task. "Brother?" he ventured over the front bench seat to the "FBI agent", knew that, if he had the sense a big city cop did, he would be pulling over and putting the tall guy in the _back seat_ of his cruiser right about now. Where all the criminals went.

Catching the suspicious tone and the emphasis on the one word, Sam's eyes opened and flew to the Chief's, saw a warning …and curiosity in the man's expression. But it was the slice of understanding, kindness that had Sam coming clean, "Ah…yeah. Dean's my brother."

The Chief simply nodded his head as he barreled around an old work truck that wasn't pulling off the road fast enough. "Your brother. So you're not FBI?" he asked, wanted the man to say it, to make a full confession.

"No," Sam admitted shortly. If the Chief wanted to throw his butt in jail he could….as soon as he knew Dean was alright, had proof that he hadn't lost his brother.

Sensing the panic running under the kid's exterior, after witnessing the "agents" earlier interchange at the station, he knew that there was a strong connection tying the two men together. Taking pity on Sam, he dropped his line of questioning. "Your brother responsive?" he instead asked, jerking his chin to the cell phone the brunette was still clutching in his left hand like it was a grenade primed to explode if he loosened his grip.

Startled that he hadn't checked that already, Sam quickly raised the phone, appreciated that the Chief had the foresight to cut the wailing siren as he listened as hard as he could, prayed for a sound to come from the phone, even if it was a moan of pain. "Dean? Dean, can you hear me? Dean!"

Silence. Dead silence.

His voice cracked on the next round of "Dean"s. And he could only shake his head at the Chief's questioning look, had no voice, no words for what was transpiring, could think of nothing other than screaming, "NO!" to the heavens, to anyone that would listen.

And then the chief pointed out the windshield, beckoned, "Look."

Over the treetops, it plummeted: Smoke.

Suddenly hellfire had no market on making Sam want to scream, on making him think that not existing would be a God-send. And in that moment, Sam knew that, if Dean was dead, he would go back to the mental ward so he and Cas could trade up again, that he would rather welcome a death sentence than live with the grief of losing his brother all over again.

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In hindsight, the Chief knew he should have seen it coming, that the tall kid would fly out of the car before he barely applied the brakes. That the kid would make a beeline for his brother. But in his defense, in all his years as a cop, he had never seen the like. Had never seen someone actually run full-out _towards_ a fire, well, not unless he was a fireman and all geared up. Yes, he had seen some family members made a heartbroken stumble toward a burning house, had heard the wail of loss that followed in its wake. But never…this.

The fake FBI agent was _running_ for the engulfed car.

'_Even though there's no hope that anyone could endure the infernal boiling inside that wreck, _' the Chief somberly predicted, bet the temperature in the car would give Hell a run for its money. All the kid was going to do was get himself burned alive trying to save his brother, who was already gone. '_Like Brendal'_ he compared but instantly knew he didn't have it right by half. Brendal hadn't thrown himself onto his brother, hadn't been willing to burn, to die with his brother….like Sam was set on doing.

He wouldn't be fast enough to stop the kid, not with the kid's long legs and his own arthritis in his left knee. And rationalizing with the kid? That had gone out the window when the kid saw the first plummet of smoke, when he had shown him the smoke. So…shooting the kid in the leg? Was he down to that option only to stop two deaths from happening on this stretch of road?

Convinced that Sam would soon barrel through the flames if he didn't stop him, the Chief was dropping his hand to his gun when a familiar voice called out, snapped his attention to the left, to where his deputy, Nathan, crouched at the edge of the woods.

"Over here!"

And though the voice wasn't Dean's, it offered something Sam desperately needed: Hope. Slowing down, divesting his attention from the blazing car, he tracked the voice to his left, to a man he didn't know. Noted that the man's hand was resting on something ….on the ground. A body…that was wearing plaid. "Dean?" he choked out, stumbling to a stop before changing directions.

The explosion behind Sam pushed him to the ground with an invisible wall of heat.

Raising his head, unmindful of the gravel imbedded in his jeans at the knees and his cheek and hanging onto his bottom lip, Sam didn't look behind him, to the car, had eyes only for the figure he could now see was eyelevel with him. "Dean?" he worriedly called, his brother's slack, bloody features scaring him all over again as he surged to his feet, took the necessary steps to gain his brother's side and then crumpled to his knees, hand replacing the stranger's on his brother's back, purposely avoiding the bleeding wound that slashed from left to right across Dean's shoulder blades.

With shaking fingers, he found a pulse in Dean's neck, didn't look up when the stranger spoke.

"His vitals are good and I already called for an ambulance."

Sam didn't even nod, just took in the man's reassurance but felt little relief. Not when Dean wasn't _moving_. He barely registered the stranger getting up, crossing over to the truck Sam never even saw when he came upon the scene, had only seen the car, the fire…envisioned the death of his brother.

Trailing his trembling hand from his brother's pulse point to his brother's hair, to the blood matting Dean's hair, Sam didn't have to search hard to discover the wound that was bleeding so heavily. Dean's head had been treated to the same abuse his brother's back had, had been lanced into, by something sharp yet blunt.

'_Like a friggin' tree'_ Sam bitterly summarized, hadn't missed the huge tree that lay across the road, that the Pinto was practically a part of, a tree that, right now, was on fire thanks to the car's explosion. But Sam didn't care if the whole forest burned down, as long as Dean was alright.

"Dean?" he gently beckoned, bending over so he could see Dean's face unobstructed. "Hey, come on, man. Give me a sign that you're still in there. Dean?" his brother's name coming out of him like he was some little lost kid needing his big brother to tell him everything would be OK.

But Dean didn't respond, didn't move, didn't even blink.

Tenderly cupping his brother's bloody cheek, Sam rubbed his thumb over Dean's chilled skin. "You don't get to have the last word, dude," he tried to joke but his raw voice made a mockery of his attempt. Swallowing the lump blocking his airway, he hoarsely pleaded, "We talked about this, you not getting yourself killed."

Because the stranger might be reassured by "strong vitals" but he didn't know Dean, didn't know that his brother was hardly ever this still. That, yeah, Dean got knocked around, got knocked out but he usually came around quickly…especially when it was Sam beckoning him back to the land of the living.

He was about to do another more pitiable round of pleading when Dean's lips moved. Hurriedly leaning in closer, Sam couldn't hold back a smile when his brother's weak, mumbled but affronted words washed over him.

"Not …dying…resting," Dean corrected though he felt like he was talking with cotton in his mouth and his ears clogged. Wouldn't have bothered surfacing that far except Sam was there, was touching him, was breaking out his broken little boy tone. Forcing his eyes to pry apart far enough to see a blurry figure hovering close, a figure with shaggy hair, he stated, "Tree."

Sam gave a huff of laughter, his overwhelming relief making his voice come out in a high pitched squeak. "Yeah. I can see that. It's on fire, by the way. Car too."

Dean's eyebrows rose slightly at that news and he mumbled like he did when he was jostled out of a dead sleep, "Good. Hated that ….thing," but he was moving, was sliding his hands under him, beginning to push himself upright.

And part of Sam knew Dean shouldn't move, that he should stop him, but he was too grateful Dean was showing signs of true life, was moving, could move. So instead of impeding the motion, he ended up lending Dean a hand.

Dean didn't dislodge his little brother's paw when it wrapped around his arm, didn't protest when he felt a corded arm circle around his waist and help him sit up, when he felt himself being maneuvered backwards. Felt overwhelming relief instead of embarrassment when he realized that his back and head were supported, not by some inanimate prop but by Sam, Sam's chest to be exact.

Turning his head, Dean found that it was too heavy, lolled more than rolled until it was blocked by Sam's chin. He squinted, trying to work through the double vision and blurriness, to see the flames clearly that danced merrily across the obstruction on the road. "Pinto…on fire."

At first Sam stilled, tightened his grip on Dean, afraid that Dean was more confused than he had thought, when the amused lilt to his brother's voice registered with him. He gave a chuckle. "Yeah, you did the whole, Pinto-on-Fire stereotype, Dean."

"Think I should sue?" Dean joked, closing his eyes, never would admit to almost snuggling against his brother's warm frame.

"On a thirty seven year old car that you _stole_…." Sam gamely pointed out, felt so happy to be bantering with Dean that he felt lightheaded himself.

"So you're saying that's a no," Dean returned, couldn't fight down a shiver from coursing through his body. Friggin' head wounds.

When Dean trembled in his grasp, Sam's heart skipped a beat and he tightened his arm around his brother's waist. Dean didn't usually allow him to get this close, to let help him in the same ways Dean always helped his little brother, didn't let it show when he was in pain or his body was in trauma. So this here, Dean compliantly accepting his help, shivering in his hold…it set off a hundred alarms in Sam's head.

"Shhh, we'll just hang out for awhile, 'til the ambulance gets here," Sam cooed, mimicked Dean's gentlest tone when he knew his baby brother was about to fall apart…would have if his big brother wasn't there to hold him together.

Not bothering to pry his eyes open, Dean mumbled, "Don't need an ambulance. Just….need a few minutes…get my bearings."

Dean's token protest was exactly what Sam needed to keep himself from panicking. He didn't have to wonder if Dean knew that. So much that Dean did wasn't about himself, was about what other people needed, what Sam needed. So Sam looked down at his brother's bloody, pale face with a tender smile that Dean couldn't see.

But his head snapped up as he sensed someone heading their way, saw that the Chief had almost reached them, had a blanket draped over his arm. Without a word, the older man unfolded the blanket, crouched down and lay it across Dean, who shifted his head a little, opened blurry eyes to view the interloper but seemed to deem him a non-threat because his eyes soon closed and his head again settled back onto his brother's shoulder.

"He doing OK?" the Chief quietly asked, concern etched in his worn features as they lifted from Dean to meet Sam's gaze.

"He's had worse," Sam allowed and though the words sounded like bravado, his tone was full of regret. Worse so didn't cover it by half.

The Chief nodded before jerking his head back the way he had come, to the stranger that had been with Dean who was now lighting flares and positioning them down the road. "Nathan's one of my deputies, arrived on the scene soon after the accident, pulled your partn…." The Chief smirked, corrected himself, "_brother_ from the car. Said he was unresponsive but his pulse and breathing were all good."

"Mmm' right here," Dean interjected, opening his eyes then lifting up his head and giving it a shake as if he could knock the wooziness loose before he leveled what he hoped wasn't a goofy glare at the chief. He so hated to be talked _about_ and not _to_. "I'm respsive…awake," he amended, went with the words he could form without sounding like a drunk on a two day bender.

"Clearly," Chief Fox chuckled at the wounded kid's swagger, though he was personally relieved to see the younger man was going to be OK. Crazy thing was, he liked the two con artists. A wail of fast approaching sirens had him looking down the road a moment before he turned back to the brothers. Giving the wounded kid's shin a gentle pat, he reassured, "Our medic team's the best in the county so you'll be in good hands," his eyes switching up to Sam's, knew the younger man needed that reassurance almost more than his wounded brother did.

Sam nodded at the Chief's encouragement, though he wondered what expression he wore that had the Chief thinking he was the one who needed to be calmed down. Then the Chief was gone, was crossing back over to the road, was waiving in the fire trunk, pointing to them as the ambulance sped onto the scene.

Sam couldn't remember a time when Dean had been _awake_ and ushered into an ambulance. Guessed that he had been for the broken leg incident, but then again, Sam wouldn't know because he had taken a crowbar to the head and was in lala land himself. But all that to say…he didn't think Dean would go quietly. That though his brother's walls were down now, with him, he knew they would quickly go up when someone dared to imply that Dean Winchester wasn't invincible, needed some mere mortal's help to patch himself back together again. "Dean, hey you gotta…" he began but that was as far as his you-have-to-let-them-take-you-to-the-hospital speech got before two red coated medics were suddenly there, reaching out for his brother.

It went as well as Sam feared.

"Hey, hands off the merchz….goods," Dean protested, shoving both medics' hands free of him.

Sam watched the medics exchange looks, then the older man headed back to the ambulance and Sam feared that they were giving up the idea of helping Dean. But the blonde guy who seemed Sam's own age hadn't moved, was visually inspecting Dean from head to toe. Then he met Dean's, albeit hazy, glare head on and raised his gloved hands in a sign of surrender.

"Ok, I'm not going to touch you until you give me your permission," the medic opened with. To which Dean managed to growl, "Which I won't." But the medic pretended to have missed that come back, continued in his calm voice, "But you're a bit banged up, sir, and it's best to treat these things right away instead of later."

"I'm good," Dean announced, sought to prove it by abandoning his cushy position against Sam and sit up on his own. But two sets of hands latched onto him, one from in back of him and one in front of him, keeping him locked in place. "Personal space!" he hissed, elbowing Sam in the gut but only managing to hit his brother's rock solid abs. Which did nothing to convince his brother to release him.

"Dean… " Sam began in his calm-down-and-listen-to-me tone.

But the medic was speaking too even as he released his grip on Dean's arms, "Kay," he surrendered. Realizing that the guy supporting his patient wasn't going to let the wounded man play the macho card and injury himself further, he gave his new ally a quick look, saw the man's gaze wasn't all too friendly but wary. So maybe ally wasn't quite the word for their relationship. But he thought they did want the same thing, that the guy could be counted on to keep the injured man from refusing medical treatment.

The medic had hope, until he met the injured guy's eyes. Though there were clear signs of a concussion, there was also stubbornness pouring off of him. '_Why do I always get the hardcases_…' he sighed internally and then, like he always did, he thought of his brother, the ultimate hardcase. And suddenly he felt that familiar need surge in him, to save someone, even someone who thought they didn't need saving…especially them.

Shifting his feet to move closer instead of further away from his patient, the medic almost shook his head as he saw the wounded man tense at his closeness. Like he was some snake about to strike. He barely held back a smirk. "Well, let me ask you some questions," he began, sought to lull the guy into a false sense of security.

Dean knew this game though. "I know my name, that it's Tuesday, that a friggin' tree tried to kill me."

The medic nodded, like he was pleased with Dean's replies. "Good. Couple more questions just to be sure you're as good as you say." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man frown, knew he was misinterpreting where things were going to ultimately end up, that he feared that he was about to deem his friend fit. '_Fat chance_,' he snorted to himself before he focused again on his patient. "Have you ever sustained a head injury before?"

Dean immediately shot back, "Yeah, that's why I know I'm fine," proud that the slurring of words was a thing of the past, showed this punk that he was just fine, didn't need him playing doctor on him. Dean frowned…Yuck. That sounded just wrong even in his own head.

Jerking his thumb over his shoulder to the deputy that had pulled Dean from the wreckage, the medic recapped, "Nathan said that you were unconscious when he pulled you from the car."

Taking the statement as a condemnation of weakness, Dean railed back, "You try staying conscious when a couple ton tree decides to give you a love tap."

The medic gave a small smile, tried to wield his country boy charm. "Which kinda proves my point that you should get a CT scan and an MRI."

Dean tried to sit up, would have made it if Sam's gigantic hands weren't still locked around his biceps, keeping him pinned to his brother's chest. So he had to use his words, flung them at the medic and Sam alike. "Maybe you're the one that's disoriented because I said I'm good. I'm not going to the hospital."

Sam let out a terse breath. This was going to be harder than he thought, gave a silly moment of wishing Dean had remained loopy a little bit longer…long enough to strap him to a gurney. He was about to intervene, to give the medic some much needed help when the medic pressed on.

"Few final questions…" the medic lightly insisted, let silence fall as he held the wounded man's pained gaze. He waited until the his patient nodded his head in agreement that he could fire away before he drawled out his next words with a smile and a tone like he was rattling off the prizes you won in a game show, "Are you a paramedic? A Doctor? Even a veterinary?" And if anger and jaw clenching were signs of lucidity, the guy was fully conscious now. "Been to medical school ? Or did you just watch every episode of Dr. Sexy on tv?" he finished, letting his southern drawl twang unchecked, just to annoy the guy.

Caught off guard by the medic's rant as much as Dean, Sam's reaction was the other side of the meter of his brother's, found himself _laughing_ even as he felt the muscles in his brother's arm coil, knew that Dean's hands were forming fists.

Smiling like they were talking about having a picnic after Sunday service, the medic suggested, "Now since I'm the one wearing the medic jacket," and he pointed to the red jacket embossed with "medic" before his tone turned into an unyielding command, "…how about you let me do the diagnosing and you stop acting like a macho jerk."

Blindsided by the medic's morph from country charm to snarly drill sergeant, Dean struggled for a come-back, finally sputtered out, "You're….a macho jerk."

The medic snorted, gave a twisted smile and looked up to the wounded guy's friend. "Your friend's comebacks always that lame or is that the concussion talking?"

"He's my brother and yeah, that comeback's about par for the course," Sam allowed, smirking.

Dean tried to turn his head around to face Sam, lobbed at him, "Shut up! Whose side are you on?"

But it was the medic who defended Sam. "Since he's your brother, I think that's a pretty dumb question."

Narrowing his gaze, Dean lambasted the other man, "Your bedside manner sucks."

"You see a bed anywhere out here?" the medic asked, spreading his arms wide to encompass the barren road and the woods surrounding them.

Knowing where things were circling around to again, Dean headed the medic off at the pass. "I'm not going to the ER, so run along. Sam, help me up!"

Tearing his eyes from his patient, the medic looked to the burned out husk that once was a car. "You seem pretty tight with the chief but your car, it's just a _hair_ over the town limits." Then he faced his patient again. "Now the police chief in the next town over, he takes a real strong stance against stolen vehicles," leveling a knowing look on the man that would soon be hopping into his ambulance.

It was a startling turn of events, had Sam holding his breath and Dean using his quiet, lethal tone. "You blackmailing us?"

The medic gave a wide, school boy smile. "I'm being persuasive," eyes flickering to Sam then back to Dean. "So, county hospital or the county lockup? Your choice."

Dean met the medic's eyes, studied the man, realized that the guy wasn't going to take "no" for an answer, was as wily at getting his own way like…well, like Sam was. And maybe it was that comparison that did it, that had him agreeing, where a moment ago, he had been contemplating throwing a punch. That and the fact that Sam clearly wasn't going to help him make a break for the woods, lug his disoriented butt back to town over his shoulders. "Half an hour. That's all the time I'm wasting at the hospital. And I'm _walking_ to the ambulance."

To the medic's credit, he accepted Dean's surrender with humbleness and almost a sigh of relief and was stepping closer, getting in position to help Dean gain his feet.

Sam, meanwhile, was stunned at Dean's capitulation, took a moment for him to realize that he needed to loosen his death grip on Dean's arms. But he didn't so much release Dean as exchange his handholds. Careful to not come into contact with the open wound on Dean's back, he slipped his arm low around his brother's waist and drew Dean's left arm over his shoulder and then climbed to his feet, brought Dean up with him. Thought the operation went easier than he anticipated when he realized that his efforts had been aided by the not inconsiderate strength of the medic who was obstinately positioned on Dean's right side.

As for Dean, moving didn't feel so great, his head rapidly gaining altitude was a mother, and expecting his right leg to not embarrass him apparently was too much to ask because it mutinously folded under him. Again, it was two sets of hands that kept him in place, ensured that he didn't wake up eating grass and underbrush for a second time that day.

"Whoa, hey!" Sam called out in alarm, wholly not expecting to have to support that much of Dean's weight, to see his brother falter.

It was practically instinctive: when falling, grab for Sam. It was why Dean's hand unerringly latched onto Sam's arm, used his brother's arm, his brother's strength like a crutch he had faith would keep him upright. And Sam didn't fail him, immediately shifted closer and braced himself to accommodate the added pounds his legs were expected to bear.

"I gotcha," Sam promised, tried to shove down his worry, to not go all nurturing on Dean because his brother didn't response well to that, not with an audience. And especially not with an audience that had raised his brother's dander by strong-arming him into doing something he didn't want to do. No, he had to be a bit aloof though he felt anything but. Dean being hurt was akin to him being hurt, but so much worse. His pain he could bare…Dean's? Not so much. "Is it your bad leg?" Bad leg as in the one that was broken when Dean got tossed around by a creature that roamed the earth during Biblical times. But not _just_ broken, fractured, needed surgery, that Dean had sawed the cast off of before he should have, the leg that Sam knew ached something fierce when the weather was cold or when Dean drove too many hours.

Head bent a little, eyes focused on the fire, on anyplace but on Sam, Dean gave a minimal nod, "Knee hit the dashboard…" he explained, put frustration into his tone, didn't want Sam to think the leg was forever going to be a point of weakness, was a weakness now.

"Ok," Sam stated with unflappable acceptance and no judgment and then waited for Dean to make the next move, literally and figuratively because he wasn't going to fight Dean on this. Not when the injury was a sore subject with both of them. Sam couldn't help feel guilty for not being conscious when Dean needed him, had laid in Bobby's salvage yard hurt and needing _someone_ to haul him to the hospital, to pace the waiting room while he got his _bone_ back into his flesh, be there when he woke up. Not to mention Dean had cut off the cast early because he was worried about his little brother…knew that he had to step up to the plate and handle Amy.

"Give me a minute," Dean said, began testing his leg, started putting a little weight on it while still clinging to Sam.

The Medic didn't intervene, let the two men deal with the setback on their own. Normally he would be calling his partner, Phil, to bring over the gurney, that the walking to the ambulance was turning out to be a no-go. But today, dealing with the two siblings beside him, normal didn't seem to fit the bill.

Used to hefting dead weight, to catching woozy patients, to manhandling loose limbed drunks, the medic had been shocked when his coiled muscles ended up taking on _less_ weight instead of more. That his patient had sought out his brother and, like some practiced ritual, his brother had moved just the right way at the right time to support his falling brother. It was no easy task, to catch and keep another adult male standing, was even a greater accomplishment to do it when you didn't expect to have to.

Determinedly keeping his grip on the wounded man, though he didn't expect his help would be sought, the medic watched the siblings with awe and curiosity. These two guys were turning out to be anything but predictable. Tight with the chief, tooling around in a stolen car, their bond unmistakably close and not all that fazed by accidents, fires, blackmail, and wholly prepared and capable of keeping each other from hitting the dirt due to an injury. '_They are clearly not from around here_,' the medic hazarded, knew that the two men were no way small town residents that spent their Sundays doing something as commonplace as playing touch football at the park.

Finally able to bear his own weight without his knee shutting down on him, Dean raised his head to Sam and gave a nod. He was good to go. Then they were in motion, almost left the medic behind as it took the blonde a moment to realize the caravan was pulling out. He had to take a few steps to draw even with the brothers and then they were on a three man mission to the ambulance.

When they were within meters of their destination, the other medic appeared from the front of the ambulance, gave a thought to taking over Sam's place at Dean's side. It only took one superheated moment under Sam's deadly glare for him to stop in his tracks, to decide that his time was better and _safer_ spent mindlessly opening the ambulance backdoor wider and fiddling with some of the supplies within arm's reach inside the vehicle.

Without thought, Sam took lead as they maneuvered Dean into the back of the ambulance, settled his brother down to sit on a gurney. He was about to claim a seat on the other gurney when Dean reached out, snagged his arm. Worried, he froze mid-motion and snapped his gaze to Dean's. "Dean, what?"

Sam's worried attentiveness was almost comical, if Dean didn't find it so comforting. No need to tell Sam that though. Instead he kept to the task at hand. Looking to the blonde medic, he ordered, "Let me talk to my brother a moment."

Instantly the medic began to protest, "We should…."

But Dean didn't let him get any further. "Am I dying? Is the ER driveup closing in half an hour? No. So go powder your nose."

The medic showed the first signs of true anger, his jaw clenched and Sam tensed, thought he was going to have to come to blows with the guy he was almost grateful to. And then something changed in the medic's expression, a flash of pain surfaced and then it softened. Patting Sam on the shoulder, he mumbled, "If I didn't once have a brother just like him, I'd almost pity you." And then with those cryptic words, the medic hopped out of the ambulance and gave the brothers the privacy Dean had wanted.

Facing Dean, Sam reached out, laid his hand on Dean's knee, willed his brother to take his time, to tell him whatever he had to say at his own pace. That if Dean wanted to talk about their argument…or confess that he was hurt worse than he was letting on…or… "Dean whatever…."

Caught off guard by Sam's touchy feely move, it took Dean a moment to put his thoughts back on track amid the three alarm headache he was sporting. "Sam, something's wrong about this," he cut across Sam's words, needed to say it get to the point before their privacy was gone.

Sam tilted his head, not following his brother's declaration but catching the intensity humming off of Dean. "Wrong, what…"

"That tree didn't fall. It dropped out of the _sky_. Like it was gunning for me…" Dean announced, eyes intently searing into Sam's. "Then the car started on fire…"

Sam held back a smirk, almost. "One word, Dean: Pinto." But he melted under Dean's frustrated glare, not to mention Dean looked like an extra from a zombie movie. Snagging a bandage from the ambulance's stash, he gently applied it to Dean's forehead, stopped the trail of blood from crossing the border and running into Dean's eye. Put a little pressure to try and stem the flow, didn't like that the sterile white soon turned bright red.

Stanchly changing his focus from his brother's blood covered face to Dean's eyes, Sam placated, "Ok. Ok. I'll check things out here and meet you at the hospital."

"In half an hour, forty five minutes tops," Dean clarified, didn't plan on spending a second longer in the medical torture shop than he had to.

"Riiiiggghhttt," Sam drawled, "cause the doctors will take one look at you and think you're wasting their time and kick you out of the ER," punctuated his snarkiness by holding the now blood soaked bandage up for Dean's inspection.

Dean slapped Sam's hand out of his face, growled, "Your bedside manner sucks too."

But Sam was all smiles. Scampering out of the ambulance, he faced Dean from his new position, challenged, "And who taught me to be a smart aleck?"

"Dad. Definitely Dad," Dean retorted with a straight face.

Sam snorted, "Yeah, keep telling yourself that." As if sensing his cue, the medic returned, jumped into the ambulance, gave Sam a nod and shut the door. Then the ambulance drove off, left Sam standing alone on a country road with a burned out car, a crispy tree and his brother's hunch to follow up on. Ok, well he wasn't alone, was surrounded by the police chief, the deputy, and probably the entire small town's fire company. But somehow, when Dean wasn't with him, Sam always felt like it was him against the world.

He nearly startled when the other man spoke.  
"I'll give you a ride to the hospital. Wade will stick with your partner until you get there," Nathan, the deputy, the man who pulled his brother from a burning car, reassured.

"Wade?" Sam questioned, wasn't sure if he was putting two and two together and getting four right then. Because, now that Dean had left, that he didn't have to keep it together for his brother's sake, the reality of the accident was hitting him. The car Dean had been in had caught on fire. _Fire_.

Accepting that the guy was a bit rattled, Nathan nodded toward the disappearing ambulance. "Wade, the medic who helped your partner."

Wade. Sam mentally put the name to the blonde medic, locked it into his head. Well, he owed Wade something for convincing..no, _blackmailing_ Dean into going to the hospital, for playing the bad guy so he didn't have to. '_And if he survives being cooped up with Dean all the way to the county hospital…he'll deserve a medal…or will be wearing a cast of his own.'_

Thinking the guy he pulled from the car wasn't the only one in shock, Nathan reached out, latched onto the tall brunette's arm, was ready to steer him over to his truck. But his touch seemed to snap the other man from his stupor and Nathan knew enough to drop his hold, read the stranger's keepouts like sign posts. Touching was out of bounds…unless apparently you were partners because the kid had had no compunctions about grabbing hold of his partner and holding tight till the ambulance arrived. "My truck's over here…" he said, refused to point to the vehicle like he was a tour guide. But the taller man shook his head, walked, not toward the truck but toward the smoldering tree that had nearly been the death of his friend.

Walking along the tree's length to its uprooted base, Sam crouched down, eyed the surrounding ground and suddenly knew that Dean's gut was batting a thousand like it usually did. Looking up to Nathan who had followed in his wake, he stated, "This tree didn't just fall over, not unless a good wind blew it ten yards." Then he pointed to the edge of the forest, ten yards away, where the ground was torn up in the shape of a displaced tree. "Isolated tornado doesn't work either, unless it was prejudice against just this tree."

Instead of answering, Nathan headed for the woods for a better look and it was Sam who came to join him. Both men stood staring down at the ripped up soil and then their eyes tracked to the downed tree. "So someone put the tree on the road on purpose?" Nathan asked, a twinge of incredulousness in his tone.

Sam didn't answer aloud, instead he speculated, '_Someone or something brought that tree down, nearly on top of Dean_.' And while others may say wrong place, wrong time, Sam was more inclined to believe that his brother was exactly where someone had wanted him to be. And if they had gotten their way, Dean would be in a morgue wagon instead of an ambulance right then.

Cold fury settled in Sam at the revelation. There was nothing that set him off more than someone threatening his brother. And yeah, it happened a lot. That didn't mean he was ever going to get used to it, let anyone get away with it. He was so caught up in his own headspace, wondering if Dean was still in danger, if it had to do with their case, if Brendal somehow had a hand in it, that he nearly tripped over the wooden cross sticking out of the ground. Brought himself up short just in time.

Suddenly his fury melted into relief, gratitude. The cross, he knew what it was: A marker. A remembrance for a life lost at that exact spot. For someone who had not walked away, who was just _gone_..and was not coming back.

'_And that could have been Dean. Almost was. Was once,"_ Sam closed his eyes, fought back the sting of tears because he remembered making a cross for Dean, not carved as this one was but with two unremarkable pieces of wood, nailed together, no name etched into the grain because…. It wasn't supposed to be permanent. He had vowed to get Dean out of Hell and…and…

Dean's words came back to him, cut into him. He hadn't kept his vow…an angel did instead. And then his own words to Dean replayed in his head and Sam knew that they could have very easily been the last words he ever said to Dean. Hateful words that he didn't _mean_.

Nathan edged up to draw even with the other man, dropped his eyes to the marker. "Family lost their lives here 'bout three years ago."

Mentally shaking himself, Sam drew in a steadying breath and looked to his companion. "Tree?"

"DUI. Rolled the car …" Nathan looked away, always hated coming across accidents. He had feared today, when he saw the car impaled on the tree and on fire, that it would turn out like that last one had: with no survivors.

"Fire?" Sam pressed, was trying to find a link to tie everything together. But the deputy shook his head, dashed his fledgling hope.

"No. No fire. So, ready to go see your partner?" Nathan prompted, needed to focus on the good he could do, that had been done today. A man was alive today because of him, the kid beside him hadn't lost his friend because he had been at the right place at the right time, wasn't scared off by some flames licking out of a car engine.

"Yeah," Sam answered, voice hoarse from far more than the smoke still polluting the air, because the question was practically ludicrous. He hadn't wanted to stay behind in the first place, had wanted to go with Dean to the hospital. So asking if he was ready to see Dean? Yeah, totally. Especially after choking on the aftermath of flames, its taste, its smell, its texture conjuring up one hundred years of torment.

But as he climbed into the deputy's truck, what he couldn't shut out was the wooden cross, the memories of burying his brother, the lingering echo of the earlier wounding words he and Dean had hurled at one another. It couldn't happen again, any of it. He wouldn't **let** it.

And whoever was setting people on fire, might be killing people at this exact spot, they had made a fatal error the _second_ they had targeted his brother.

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TBC

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Thank again for all the generous words for the first chapter and to everyone who tuned in and set alerts! I'm so awed!

As you noticed, I snuck the harm/comfort in right away this story…hope I did OK.

And kudos for those of you who knew the reputation of the Ford Pinto and guessed what would happen! I just thought the vehicle they were tooling around in the last episode looked like a Pinto and hence that idea popped into my head.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	3. Chapter 3

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 3

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When the medic hopped in the ambulance and closed the door, Dean was opening his mouth to tell the punk that there was no way he was laying down and getting strapped onto a gurney. But he nearly, literally, bit his tongue when the ambulance lurched into motion, sent him tipping over toward the backdoors. He wasn't off his game so much that he didn't throw out a hand to brace himself, but still, he cringed, waited for the inevitable impact of his head with either the doors or the side of the ambulance.

An impact that never came.

Not when one strong arm at his left side halted his tilt and a hand slipped to the back of his head, took the brunt of the impact of the ambulance's unforgiving side panel. Stunned at the rescue, Dean expected the medic to issue him an ultimatum, that he could either lie down or be a ping pong ball in the ambulance interior all the way to the hospital. And as much as Dean didn't want to give in, let the medic's stunt get the results he wanted, he so didn't want to hurl or black out. And he was painfully close to doing both.

But the medic's ultimatum, it wasn't for him, was shouted to the front of the ambulance. "Phil, I don't have him strapped in yet! Stop or I swear, you'll be the one needing stitches."

"Ah, crap, Wade. I heard the door, thought…." came from the second medic who was behind the wheel. "I can't stop now …not when the chief can see us. He'll know something's up."

Dean watched the medic, Wade, roll his eyes heavenward, as if asking 'why him'. "Fine. Go until the turn, then stop. We'll be hidden by the trees at that spot."

"'Kay," came the meek return from Phil.

Facing his patient, Wade was expecting anger, not a smug smirk on the pale bloody features.

"He new?" Dean asked, enjoyed that the fact that the medic had an idiot for a partner.

Wade couldn't hold back a matching smirk as he shook his head, "Nope. No _hope_ he will get better."

And Dean couldn't help it, found himself sharing in the other man's good humored tolerance. "Had a few partners like that myself."

Wade smiled wider and there was a cockiness to his next words. "Makes me look pretty good though, doesn't he?"

Dean had to give credit where credit was due. "Compared to him…you're a rocket scientist _and_ Mother Teresa rolled into one," he bestowed, his gratitude that he hadn't fallen out of the ambulance and his head hadn't taken more abuse definitely playing into his changed attitude toward the medic.

Wade laughed out loud at that. Then the ambulance rolled to a halt and he was manhandling Dean down onto the gurney, was surprised and a bit concerned that the macho jerk wasn't protesting. But the guy's eyes slid closed as his head rested on to the cushions of the gurney. "I need you to stay awake," he bid, his fingers finding the pulse point in the man's neck. Obediently, his patient's green eyes flickered open, held his gaze. "How about we call a truce. My name's Wade."

"Dean," Dean supplied, tacked on, "I would shake your hand but … " he made a point to wave his fingers of the hand the medic had just pinned to the bed. "I'm a little tied up right now." And there were absolutely no good memories that came with being strapped to a table, being at someone's mercy, even someone trying to help him like the last ambulance crew that had taken them straight to Leviathan central.

Sensing his patient's increased heart rate, attributing it to emotional distress not physical, Wade kept talking. "If it makes you feel any better, the chance of Phil's driving giving me a concussion or a broken bone before our partnership ends is pretty high."

"Actually, that does make me feel better," Dean unrepentantly admitted.

"Thought it might," Wade replied without malice as he began to carefully wipe away the blood on Dean's face, and dabbed with a medicated bandage at the open wound he uncovered when he parted Dean's hair with his gloved hands. Though he knew it had to hurt, the man didn't even flinch away. '_Just like I thought_: _Hardcase…just like Oliver_.' And he still felt that loss every time he thought of his brother.

But a moment later when he shone a light into Dean's eyes, his patient gave a startled inhale of breath, pinched his eyes shut and rolled his head away. Proved that, even hardcases had their limits.

'_Crap_!' Dean silently cursed as the sharp agony which was akin to having an icepick jammed in his eye lingered. It left him struggling to keep his breathing even, to not show more weakness, vowing to shove the medic's little flash light where the sun didn't shine if he tried to aim it at his eyes again. '_So much for talking my way out of the tests at the hospital,'_ he dismally thought, knew that he had given Wade the proof he needed. Could check another symptom off the concussion determination checklist:

_Blacked out for while - _check

_Combative _– check

_Talking like I'm drunk_ – check

_Almost crying like a baby when a pinprick of light hits your eyes_ – oh yes

Then, as if Wade was determined to torture a confession out of him, the ambulance's siren was flipped on. The wail shrieked through his head, seemingly intent on shattering it into a thousand pieces. But worse than that, he might have left a groan slip out. '_Sensitive to sound – yes. Yes! Just make it stop_.'

Having taught himself to be an expert at detecting signs of pain, Wade felt himself cringe when Phil, out of the blue, hit the siren, sent his patient into a new level of agony. "Phil for the love of ….cut the siren!" he bellowed to his partner.

"Chief said if I speed in town I have to run the siren," Phil defended, turning his focus from the road to look over his shoulder at Wade.

"Road! Watch the road!" Wade ordered, breathed a sigh of relief when Phil returned his questionable concentration back to the road. Fighting to calm down, to not resort to violence, he evenly suggested, "Cut the siren and just….keep to the speed limit."

When a petulant, "Ok," came back to him and silence settled in on the threesome again, Wade focused back onto his patient, saw that Dean's jaw was still clenched in pain, his eyes were still closed and his body was rigid. "Sorry about that," Wade employed his gentle tone as he settled an ice pack on the head wound to keep down the swelling. The man jerked a bit but then stilled, swallowed hard, then slowly moved his head back onto the pillow. "Are you allergic to anything?" he asked, knew that he was falling behind on his tasks, the questions he was supposed to ask, that something about this particular case, this particular patient, it was hitting him hard.

Dean thought about shaking his head but rolling it had been painful enough. "No," he hoarsely answered, didn't have enough saliva to wet his suddenly dry mouth.

"Is your brother meeting us at the hospital? I was surprised he didn't ride along," Wade kept up the conversation as he moved to the man's "bad leg" began to prod it until the man stiffened in pain. '_So yeah, tender there_.' When the man didn't reply, his eyes flew up to the man's face, saw that, thank goodness, he hadn't lapsed into unconsciousness but was staring at the ceiling of the van with an anxious look.

It was finally registering with Dean. The medic knew Sam wasn't his FBI partner, was his brother. Which meant the FBI badge tucked in his pocket and the ID he was wearing wasn't going to fly, was going to get him and Sam tossed in jail for impersonating federal officers. Crap, the day was just getting better and better.

He jerked when Wade was suddenly hovering over him and he caught the sight of the flashlight back in the medic's hand. "Dude, you put that light in my eyes again and I swear, tied to this bed or not, I will give you a beat down," he growled, was done being submissive, especially now that he realized that his weakness was about to put Sam in danger.

Wade's lips turned into a slow smile. '_Guess he's not going comatose on me_.' Making a point to click off the flashlight and toss it to the other unused gurney, he raised his hands in a sign of surrender. "Fine. No more light. We'll stick to stimulating conversation. So what brings you to town? Why does the chief care what happens to you? And where did you learn to drive because finding a way to not end up being pancaked by the tree… that's not something they teach you in driver's ed."

'_Great, I gotta get Curious George as a medic_,' Dean grumbled to himself and wished, not for the first time, that Sam was riding to the hospital with him. No, instead a thousand bad memories were hitching a ride, were waiting to ambush him at the hospital. But one kept coming back, no matter how many times he pushed it down: him sprawled out on the floor, staring at his casted leg like a doped out fool and then the door opened and …and Bobby walked in. And he was so…._happy_ that the man wasn't dead.

Dean could still remember the feel of Bobby's hand on his cheek, reassuring him that everything would be alright, that he hadn't lied when he had said, "If you decide you're not fine, I'll be where I always am. Right here."

'_And where are you now, Bobby? I thought, there for awhile that maybe…maybe you had found a way to keep that promise but you didn't. I'm not fine..and neither is Sam and you're not here. You're gone_.' And then Dean closed his eyes, not so much to block out the light but to keep everything inside, to lock himself down. Had to accept that right then he was physically vulnerable but he couldn't afford to be emotionally vulnerable. Not if he didn't want to slip over the edge and hit bottom and totally come apart, not if he didn't want to lose the last tendril of respect Sam had for him.

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Fighting hard to not reach across the deputy's truck and press his own foot on the accelerator to speed up their forward motion, Sam settled for biting his lip. He counseled himself that Dean was responsive, wasn't injured that badly, had walked…sort of, to the ambulance. But seeing Dean hurt, it was never going to be something he got comfortable with.

The deputy, sparing his tense companion a glance before settling his attention back on the road, drawled, "You two are the FBI agents looking into the Larson case, right?" Didn't doubt they were tight partners, not with the way the younger guy had run for the burning car, had tenderly handled his injured partner.

That question snapped Sam to the here and now. FBI agent, right, that was who he was supposed to be. Dean's partner, not his freaked out little brother. "Yeah," he answered, knew he had to follow it up with something more convincing than that. "Do you know the two brothers? Josh and Brendal?"

Surprised when the tables were turned on him, when he became the one expected to provide answers, Nathan hesitated, didn't like airing their town's affairs out to strangers. Strangers that didn't know the people involved, weren't personally vested in the case. But he had already been read the riot act by the chief, had begrudgingly agreed to aid the feds. "Yeah." Didn't mean he was going to be a blabber mouth about it.

Reading the resistance in the deputy but more intrigued than put off by it, Sam shot another question to Nathan. "They fight a lot?"

"They were brothers," Nathan snapped, eyes pinning Sam. "You know any brothers who don't fight once and awhile?"

'_Dean and I certainly do_,' Sam silently answered, felt a new wash of guilt over their last blowup. He still didn't know how he had let those hurtful words escape.

Surprised that the agent wasn't firing another question at him, Nathan sent a look to Sam, didn't know how to interpret the expression on the agent's face other than to deem it anxious. He was about to reassure the guy again that his partner was most likely going to be OK but then the agent's next words cut him off.

"I'm getting the idea that you don't want to talk about this?" Sam perceptively goaded, studying Nathan's profile, watching the clench in his jaw before the man's head swiveled quickly and he was treated to an angry glare.

"Brendal is my friend. Josh hung out with us when we played sports…poker. So yeah, talking about Brendal killing Josh…that's not something I like thinking about," Nathan fired back, couldn't calmly discuss his friend being a murderer.

Recognizing the pain in the other man's rant, Sam gentled his tone. "But you don't doubt Brendal did kill his brother?"

"Doubt?" Nathan incredulously shot to Sam. "Doubt is when there aren't ten witnesses! Doubt is when your frie…._suspect_ isn't kneeling over the body, bloody weapon with his finger prints inches away. Doubt is…" he broke off, shook his head, couldn't believe he let himself get so emotional, that the agent had tricked him into getting upset. Suddenly, he wanted to return the favor. "There is no room for doubt when the facts do just fine in telling the story. Just like today. Do you _doubt_ that your partner would be dead right now if I hadn't shown up, gotten him out of the burning car?" And he felt a momentary elation when he saw the Federal agent go nearly white at his question because, as old as the saying was, misery still did love company.

Blindsided by Nathan's harsh recount of the accident, almost physical retreating back from the mental pictures it conjured up, Sam fought to keep his breathing even, to shut out the memories of hell, of the times he dreamt that Dean was on fire. To not recall when his hallucinations had turned more cruel than he could endure, when the flames that were encasing him started to lick toward his brother. Remembered watching as the flames crossed from his decimated soul to his brother's. And then Dean burned, nothing so elegant, so merciful as on a ceiling, mouth open in a silent scream. No, Dean writhed in agony, screamed his name.

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He had leapt onto his brother's bed, had tried to put out the flames, his screams louder than Dean's, must have been sonic in the quiet room where his brother had been, not burning but asleep a moment before. He didn't know how long he frantically patted down his brother's body trying to smother the flames until Dean, instead of pushing him away, pulled him down, held him, as if together they would either stifle the flames or succumb to them. And then his brother's words finally reached him through his sobs. "It's not real, Sammy. No fire. No smoke. Sides this is a non-smoking room."

And he had erupted into a sobbing laugh and didn't think he could love his brother more in that moment. Realized that, yes, he might have had to give in and talk to his hallucinations to find Dean that night, rescue him from Jeffrey's grand design to be repossessed. But it had been worth it if it kept his brother with him, if it had saved Dean's life. Anything was worth that.

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Nathan knew he had gone too far, had been too cruel when the FBI agent seemed to shrink into the corner of the truck, was barely registering that he was there with him. '_You always strike out when you're hurting. You like everyone to bleed with you. Great job. Way to go mr. protect and serve_,' he chastised himself before he spoke. "Hey, I'm sorry. That was…I was way outta line. Your partner was almost killed, is on the way to the hospital and I'm being a callous jerk. Free pass to punch me when we get to the hospital."

The offer made Sam smirk, reminded him of Dean's guilty prod one time, '_Sam, clock me one. I won't even hit you back_.' Eyeing the deputy, he shook his head, his smirk turning into a warm smile. "I would but I'm still too grateful that you saved Dean's life. Thanks for that, by the way." Sincerity beaming from him, knew that he would have arrived too late to save Dean himself, that this man was the reason he wasn't an only child right then.

Nathan took the other man's thankfulness in stride, shrugged, "Right place, right time." Then, knowing that the agent deserved more reparations for his heartless comments, he sighed, let down his guard. "I guess I'm edgy. This thing with Brendal…Josh. I thought I knew Brendal," he admitted, saw not condemnation but understanding in the agent's eyes. "We see some bad things even in our small town but…Brendal stabbing Josh? Setting him on fire? That's…" he faltered was at a loss for words. "How could I have misread him so badly? I've always believed that Brendal would give his _life_ to save Josh not…murder him. Makes me doubt all my convictions, second guess the faith…the trust I have put in the people in my life. And now I'm…" he ruefully ran a hand through his hair, "lashing out and pulling back from people. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a cop…not anymore."

Sam wasn't prepared for the emotional confession, for the man's conflict to hit so close to home. How many times had he put his trust in the wrong person? Had lashed out at Dean when his brother had been the only one not letting him down. Had walked away…when he should have stayed, talked things out instead of burying everything down as deep as he could. Until it exploded…usually all over Dean.

Shooting an embarrassed look to the federal agent, Nathan snorted, "Sorry you pressed me about Brendal now, aren't you? Didn't expect to have to endure some backwoods deputy's breakdown, did you?"

Compassion bolstered Sam from his self- hatred. "It hurts, when we trust the wrong person. Worst part is, it usually hurts more than just us. But Nathan, we don't know the whole story with Brendal, not yet. So hold off ditching law enforcement for ….your zen master's degree," he snarkily advised, was rewarded with a chuckle from Nathan.

"And here I thought Frisbees had no sense of humor," Nathan joked back, found that he actually liked the agent and felt a slim hope that his faith in Brendal might not have been misplaced.

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Walking into the ER, Sam was making a beeline for the nurse's station when he saw that the medic, Wade, was there, flirting with easy charm with the gathered nurses. So like Dean that it made Sam even more desperate to lay eyes on his brother. As if sensing his approach, the medic broke away from his harem and met him mid way, his features slipping into professional medic.

"They're running him down for an MRI and a CT scan now," Wade announced to Dean's brother, saw the man's pinched look so he doled out some good news. "His leg's not broken, just bruised. They stitched up the lacerations on his back and his head. He didn't lose consciousness or get confused, so that's all good signs."

Sam nodded, knew that he shouldn't be as worked up as he was. Dean getting knocked out was practically a team sport for his brother. It wasn't hard to figure out what was still making his chest tighten in panic. "The smoke…the fire…was he burned?" the question came out wheezed, didn't know how he would react if Dean had sustained any burns, would go around bearing scars of that nature.

"No," Wade emphatically stated, clarified, "His lungs were clear and he wasn't burned. Nathan pulled him out in time. You wanna grab a seat?" he suggested, latching on the taller man's arm, ready to steer him to a waiting room chair.

"Nah. I'm good. Gotta….paper probably needs filled out," Sam stammered, knew he needed to keep his mind occupied.

Discomfort stole over the medic's features and he shifted on his feet, "Yeah, about that. The paperwork.."

'_Ah crap. Dean's IDs…the FBI badge…and Wade and the Chief know Dean's my brother, know that the FBI wouldn't allow brothers to be assigned partners_…' "I can explain….maybe," he started then retracted, "maybe not but the chief…."His words halted when Wade pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to him: Dean's FBI badge.

"Your brother managed to slide this out of his pocket and drop it on the ambulance floor and somehow I didn't think it was an accident," Wade said, hadn't been sure if he had done the right thing by not presenting it to the hospital for further identification purposes until he saw the relief on Dean's brother's face.

Taking the badge from Wade and sliding it into his coat pocket, Sam met the medic's eyes. "Thank you. I know you have some questions…."

The medic had the audacity to give him a cocky smile. "Stolen Pinto. Fake Badges. Brothers or FBI Partners, Your familiarity with concussions, Dean's truckload of scars…It'll make an interesting tale over a couple of beers at the bar on Bent Creek Road tomorrow night at 6. Course your 'partner' will be drinking soda pop." Then Wade gave him a wink and strolled by him, had implied that joining him for a few drinks was non-negotiable.

Sam spun around when Wade called out, "By the way, I warned them that your partner was a flight risk so he won't be skipping out under the wire." Then Wade gave him a wave and backed out the emergency door's.

Sam knew that was sure to mean Dean would be close to throwing punches before he even got to see him. '_Just great_.'

For a small town, Cooper's Flat has turning out to be populated by some very shrewd people. And that was the last thing he and Dean needed when they were having trouble keeping the lies straight between themselves, let alone others.

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Dean had almost made his break, until the black woman who reminded him of Missouri materialized at his side, pushed him back down onto the bed. A bed they had wheeled into the hallway and then let him stew there for a good five minutes, waiting for the MRI room to be available.

But instead of reaming him out, the nurse nearly clucked over him, "Now sugar, Wade warned us you had a tiny bit of hospital phobia going on. That you would rabbit if we didn't keep a close eye on you. That boy knows his patients. But I'm here to tell you that everything is fine, we're here to make everything better."

And he contributed it to the head wound that he didn't pull away from her touch when she ran her hand gently through his head and down his cheek, closed his eyes when she said her name was Mary, just like his mother's. Felt lulled by her voice instead of irritated by her words.

"Heard you did battle with mother nature but came out the victor," she said, sliding the fingers of her other hand around the good looking young man's wrist, taking his pulse.

"Tree. And I wouldn't call it exactly a victory," Dean grumbled, eyes opening to find hers.

She smiled. "Any battle you walk away from is a victory. My Navy bred daddy taught me that one."

"I'll keep that in mind," Dean replied with a weak smile, didn't mind at all if the standards of victory were lowered. He liked being graded on a curve.

"Wade said that some tall brooding brunette who looks like you would show up to claim you, would most likely tear the waiting room apart if he didn't hear word that you were going to be OK. So how about we make ourselves a deal. I go find that young man, assure him you're fine and you stay right here, get this last test taken care of," the nurse bargained, had seen the man's eyes light up at the mention of his friend's arrival.

"This town plays dirty," Dean grumbled, was not used to being the one emotionally blackmailed.

"That a yes?" the nurse pressed with a confident smile.

"His name's Sam," Dean said in the way of an answer.

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Sam surged out of the chair when the woman nurse came to a halt in front of him. "Do you have news about my….Dean?" he amended at the last second, cringed at how that sounded.

But the nurse gave no indication that she thought he was babbling. "You're Sam." To which the tall brunette gave a nod of agreement. "Dean's waiting for the MRI exam but I promised him I would find you, tell you he'll soon be back in the ER. Maybe then you can see him."

"And he's…Ok?" Sam pressed, knew that the nurse couldn't say much but a doctor had yet to make an appearance to talk about Dean's condition.

"Feeling good enough to almost make a break for the exit," the nurse supplied with an affectionate smile, liked when the younger man's features morphed from worried to relieved. "I suggest you rest up because he'll soon be your responsibly to keep in line."

"Yea, maim," Sam instantly returned with a smile. That was a task he was literally born to do.

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Sam was reading a magazine article about a guy who got lost at sea with sharks circling when his "Dean alert" went off, had his head snapping up to see his brother coming down the ER waiting room aisle. Dean had a bandage on his head, his right jean leg cut up to the knee and he was walking with a slight limp. Instantly Sam was at his side, hands ready to give his brother support if he was allowed to.

But Dean settled a glare on him. Ok, Dean was in no mood…scratch that. He was in a mood and it was a bad one. "Let's get out of here," Dean nearly growled.

"Did they…" Sam began but Dean cut him off with a curt "Now!"

That gave Sam all the facts he sought. No, they hadn't officially released his brother. No, Dean didn't want to talk about it. And Yes, Dean was in pain. '_But he's alive, walking on his own, is growling instead of slurring his words._' All in all, it was a pretty positive report. And Sam knew how to handle a concussion: rest, pain meds, no alcohol, no physical activity, ice to keep the swelling down. Course all Dean would agree to was the pain killers and maybe the ice. The rest, was bound to be an uphill battle.

Going through the automatic exit doors, Sam at his side, Dean inhaled a healthy gulp of natural, non- antiseptic air. "Find anything out about the tree, that road, explain why…" he abruptly broke off.

Worried when Dean stopped talking mid-sentence, Sam grabbed for Dean's arm, spun to study his brother's features. "Dean, what's…." But then Dean jerked his chin and he followed his brother's line of sight…to the Chief resting against his squad car, waiting for them.

"Sam, you told the medic that we were brothers. If he told the Chief…" Dean theorized, didn't like the stern set to Chief Fox's face.

Sam internally braced himself, knew it was time for him to come clean. "The medic didn't tell the chief we were brothers…I did," tried to use his I'm-really-sorry innocent expression to his advantage. But he was instantly hit with his brother's incredulously glower and stammered, "What? Why?"

And somehow those questions made Sam mad. "Why? Sorry I wasn't thinking clearly after I heard you crash, didn't know if you were alive or…." He bit his lip, looked away, knew that to say the rest would undo him after the day they had had.

Anger fading to affection and understanding, Dean sighed, rubbed his bandaged forehead. "Right…ok. Well, damage control time. Any ideas? Ah crap, here he comes." Then he plastered a smile on his still pale features, greeted the chief, "That's kind of you to check up on me but I'm fine."

The chief nodded solemnly. "Glad you're Ok but I'm here because we need to have a chat."

With those ominous words hanging in the air, the brothers exchanged knowing looks and a silent string of curses passed between them. The stuff was officially about to hit the fan.

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When Police Chief Fox opened the back door of his squad car, Dean got out, soon felt his brother's presence at his back. Though their little ride in the police car had ended, not at the police station but their motel, they still were not willing to let down their guard.

Sensing the two men's hesitation, the Chief headed for the motel room, waved them to join him. Leaning against the wall, he waited for the younger of the two brothers to get the door open. Graciously indicating them inside first, he followed in their wake, shut the door behind him and found that the two brothers were rigidly standing in the middle of the room, shoulders touching like a wall he had to butt his head against, as if they were expecting to have to take him on. He almost smiled at the notion of him besting either of the two tall, strong young men, let alone their combined forces. '_Not even in my younger days_,' he frankly admitted to himself, judged the brothers as a force to be reckoned with.

"How about you sit down before you fall down," he directed at the older of the two, didn't like how pale the kid was. But the kid didn't move, not until he and his brother exchanged eye contact, came to some decision. Then the wounded man sank down onto the end of the bed but it didn't pass the chief's notice that the other brother remained standing, stepped closer to the bed, was standing guard over his vulnerable brother like a pit bull.

So instead of trying to make their talk more intimate, the chief stepped back, grabbed one of the spindly chairs in the room, swung it around and sat on it backwards. "Alright. I'm real interested in hearing why you're impersonating federal agents, lying about being brothers and asking questions about Josh's death." Though the brothers didn't spare a glance at one another, he sensed that they had communicated all the same. To him, they gave away nothing but silence. "I think I've proven that I'm an open minded kinda guy or else some of us would be wearing handcuffs about now."

Sam knew he owed the chief something for not hauling them to jail, for taking him to Dean even when he knew he wasn't who or what he said he was. "We investigate deaths that don't quite seem normal." Could feel Dean's reprimanding look telling him to be quiet.

Look swiveling from one brother to the other, the chief pressed, "Investigate for who? No government agency teams up brothers so are we talking private investigators? And if so, who hired you? Josh's family? Brendal's? I didn't think any of them had the coin to hire a good defense attorney let alone a private dick."

Bristling at perceived slur, Dean bit out, "We're not dicks, private or otherwise."

Holding up his hand to calm Dean down, Sam waited until Dean took in a steadying breath, gave him a permissive wave of his hand to take up the explanation before he faced the chief. "No one hired us. This is just what we do."

The chief tilted his head in confusion. "Who pays you?"

Dean snorted, that was the million dollar question. He almost rolled his eyes at Sam's scolding look and silent order to play nice. '_Go to it, Sam. I hurt too bad_.' But it was if he had uttered the concession aloud, because Sam's scold turned into a worried frown and his brother stepped closer to him. To head Sam off from his mother hen path, Dean bluntly answered the chief. "No one pays us. It's our family business."

Slowly the chief repeated Dean's declaration. "Family business. …that makes no money."

Sam gave a helpless shrug and benign smile. It wasn't like they could cop to using fraudulent credit cards, bouts of grand theft auto and habitual gambling to subsidize their zero capital income.

The more he heard, the less the chief could make sense of it. "Why do it?"

Fighting the urge to just lay down for a week, Dean exhaled, knew this wasn't the type of conversation that ever went well even when he didn't have a headache the size of Canada. "Why are you chief of police of this small town? Can't be for the truckloads of money. No, you do it because it's the right thing to do, because someone has to do it and you found you're good at it."

"Okay,"the chief allowed, let that explanation pass but tacked on, "But I'm not using a badge I probably lifted off of some green FBI agent to do this job."

Sam, guessing that some mediation might be necessary about then, negotiated, "If you don't want us to find out how Josh was really killed, we'll go. Be out of town tonight."

Dean mouthed an outraged, '_What_!' to Sam but his little brother had that smug gleam in his eyes.

Watching the silent exchange between the two men, weighting their words, trying to figure out how investigating the murder could be used to their advantage, the chief rubbed his hand over his mouth in indecision. "You really think something strange caused Josh's death?"

"Don't you?" Sam carefully challenged. "You said it didn't feel right, arresting Brendal for murder. What if it's not. Can you live with that mistake?"

"Boy, you ever consider law school? You make a good case," the chief joked, obviously to the raw wound he reopened, didn't sense the rise of tension in his two suspects.

Wanting to defend himself against the chief's offhanded observation, to not let Dean think the compliment would have him all gong ho to try for a normal career path again, Sam turned to his brother but Dean wasn't looking at him, wouldn't look at him, was finding the shag carpet very fascinating. When he spoke his words were more for his brother than the chief. "I help a lot more people doing what my brother and I do." But that didn't even get Dean's eyes to lift from the floor.

Cursing silently, Sam focused on the chief, on the one party in the room he might be able to sway. "So? Are we packing up…or making sure one man who already lost his brother doesn't spend the rest of his life in prison for a crime he might not have committed?"

"Ah heck…" the chief exclaimed standing up and pointing at the two brothers. "Just don't tell anyone else your FBI. And keep me informed." And then he was out the door, left the two con man brothers alone.

In the sudden solitude, Dean readily suggested, "Ok, dig out the Marshal badges," because if Sam was lawyer material because of his ability to sway opinions, Dean should have been one because of his ability to exploit loopholes.

"Deaannn…" Sam drawled out in a long suffering tone, hoping this didn't turn into an argument.

But Dean smiled way too quickly, like he was digging for just that kind of reaction from his baby brother. "You're still such a Boy Scout, Sammy." Then he settled his back against the mattress, left his legs braced on the floor and closed his eyes, hoping that a little less light might ease the rioting happening in his head. "So what's the scoop about the tree. It didn't just fall, did it?"

Fighting the urge to make Dean occupy the entire bed, Sam distractedly answered, "Not likely. It came out of its roots about ten yards away."

Raising his hand off the bed, Dean snapped his fingers. "I knew it. It was like…raining trees out there."

"And it's not the first time someone died in that spot," Sam baited, saw Dean open one eye to focus on him, egg him on. "About three years ago a family died there." He knew Dean's next questions, answered them before Dean took the energy to ask them. "No fire, no trees…just an overload of alcohol."

Opening both of his eyes and settling his attention on Sam, he made the logical jump to the next mystery. "Any other deaths happen there?"

"Don't know yet," Sam admitted. Taking his coat off and tossing it onto his bed, he headed to the room's version of a kitchenette.

"No news articles? No one's talking? How come you don't know?" Dean pushed, wanted to have some lead, something to track down, some sense to make of it all.

Sam filled a glass with water and drained it, took his time as he told himself to not get mad, that Dean was just grumpy because he was in pain. Slowly he turned to face Dean, leaned against the countertop, knew that distance was required right then. "Maybe you didn't know, but I had a family emergency. My brother was in a car accident today, went to the hospital. So I was a little preoccupied," his tone not mocking but thready with strained emotions.

And there Sam did it again, pulled a chick flick moment over on him, made all his frustration…feel like foolishness. Sam had been worried about him, hadn't protested once when he was clinging to him like he was his own personal life raft on the Titanic. Didn't dump him to the ground when half the able bodied men in town showed up on the scene to either put out the fire or scrape possible body parts off the road. It certainly wasn't their best show of strength. But Sam had _happily_ held onto him, because he wanted to help. '_Because I needed his help_.' It was as simple and as complicated as that.

Dean stared at him so long in silence, Sam was afraid that the blow up would rival their last one but then Dean…smiled. Pushed himself up to a sit again and teased, "Glad to see your priorities are straight."

The weight lifted in Sam's chest and he gave a shaky exhale. Another bullet dodged. "You hungry?" he tentatively asked, didn't think by Dean's pallor that his brother would be up to his normal feast.

"Not really," Dean quietly returned, bowing his head and pressing his fingers to his forehead. He didn't know that Sam had crossed the room until his brother's hand came to rest on his good knee. He looked up, felt his vision go a little blurry before it sharpened, revealed that Sam was crouched down to be at his level.

"Hey, why don't you grab a nap. I'll go get some food, be back in half an hour. Did the hospital give you anything for the pain?" Sam softly inquired, knew that a prescription was unlikely, that concussions had to basically heal on their own.

"Yeah," Dean vaguely rasped back. "Took something there," he elaborated. "Jerks cut my jeans.." he added in a tone that was all sulky little boy, his fingers reaching down, feeling the destroyed denim on his right leg.

Sam couldn't hold back a fond smile. It was hard to consider strong arming Dean when he was all vulnerable. "We'll get you a new pair of jeans," he promised, felt like a parent all of a sudden.  
"With what?" Dean forlornly asked, eyes coming up to meet his brother's. "Since Frank…" he broke off, didn't want to recount the fall of another of their friends. "..we can't trust using the cards he gave us. And our cash…what cash?" he derogatorily snorted because they were broke, practically down to lint in their pockets.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it," Sam stated, willing, needing to take some of the burden off of Dean's shoulders. And now that he wasn't sharing space with his hallucinations anymore, he didn't have to smooch off of Dean's strength anymore, could instead lend strength. "Just ..lay down," he coached, pulled Dean to his feet, got him to drunkenly shuffle to the side of the bed and then eased him down on top of the covers, lifted Dean's legs onto the bed a moment later. But Dean's eyes were still open, watching him. Seemingly waiting for something.

It made Sam stutter, "Well I'll….walk to the diner…bring something mild back for you to eat. And get some ice for your head. So just…stay here, stay lying down. I'll be back."

And somewhere in his ramblings, he must have said the right thing because Dean's eyes closed and his brother murmured, "'Kay, Sammy."

But it was the fastest food run Sam had ever made, and that was taking into account a stopover at the ice machine outside the motel's office. When he re-entered the room, Dean was as he had left him: in the bed, on his side, eyes closed and breath even. Closing the door behind him with a soft click, he deposited the to-go box on the table, would give Dean another forty minutes of rest before he woke him up.

Sinking into the chair by the table, he turned on his laptop and started to search for answers. Mysterious fires, trees crashing on cars…all of it came up with nada. Then he searched for other fatalities on the highway Dean had traveled that day. The picture that came up…it made his heart pound. It was the same stretch of blacktop where he had spent entirely too much time that day, holding his brother. Pictured were fire engines, ambulance crews and a mangled mental frame that once was a car, circa 1960s. The news article's headline was brutally blunt. "Local Man Loses His Life on Highway 7" and it was dated nearly fifty some years ago.

Two car accidents, multiple fatalities…on a straight stretch of road. His brother almost among the dead. Sam didn't believe in coincidences, couldn't afford to in his line of work. His head snapped up as Dean spoke.

"You find something?" Dean asked, pushing himself upright with a groan.

Caught in the act, Sam leaned back against the chair, eyed up his brother, almost smiled at Dean's hair that was standing up in unruly spikes. "Another death on that highway. Cause was that he fell asleep."

"We don't buy that though, right?" Dean said, climbing to his feet, swayed a step before he found his rhythm, headed to the bathroom.

"No, we don't," Sam announced before Dean closed the bathroom door. Turning around in his seat, he waited patiently for Dean's reappearance, when the door opened he continued. "So cursed spot, buried hex bags…."

"Area 51.." Dean supplied, enjoyed Sam's prim expression of exasperation. "Wait…" he brightened, crossed to claim a seat on Sam's bed which was inches from his brother's position in the chair. "Wade said something…when he was blackmailing me into going to the hospital."

"He called you a macho jerk," Sam helpfully reminded.

Giving a weak glare to Sam, Dean rejected, "No. Besides that. He said our car was …"

Together the brothers parroted Wade's words, "a hair over the town limits." And that had to mean something. They just had to figure out what.

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TBC

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Thanks for the wonderful compliments on last chapter! I ate them up like chocolate!

Thanks for reading and have a great evening!

Cheryl W.


	4. Chapter 4

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: This is a shorter chapter than the others but I hope you still enjoy it.

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Chapter 4

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Not making any additional revelations on the case, the brothers had called it an early night. Well, _Sam_ had called it an early night and by turning out the room lights, had made it a necessity that Dean too crawled into bed before most senior citizens did. To Dean's credit, he didn't complain, though he surely saw through his brother's tactics. Instead, he dutifully allowed Sam to mother hen him into bed, didn't mention that the room had had a habit of shifting on him and his headache rivaled the one he had sported when he had gone all vamp. After all, where was the harm in letting Sam think he was humoring him out of the goodness of his big brotherly heart.

But it did take some effort not to snap at his brother during the multiple wakey wakey do-you-know-your-name-what-case-are-we-working-who's-your-favorite-brother concussion checks throughout the night. It did not help that Sam tacked on a bonus question at four am of where'd-you-park-the-Impala. Mean. Just down right mean because, there for a second, he thought she was outside even started to mumble.."parking lo…" before he caught himself, gave his brother a glare that should have melted Sam's face. Then he pulled the pillow over his head, which officially marked the end of Sam's reign as big brother's keeper.

Dean woke the next morning with pain, an irritability level to rival Archie Bunker's and Sam's words running a continuous loop in his head…

"_How many times did we almost die going along with one of your suicidal plans?"_

"_Well, since you think Bobby's hanging around. Maybe Dad is too. I'll give it to him like I should have from the start."_

And yes, Sam had apologized…and so did he. But that didn't mean Sam hadn't meant every word. Just like his asylum possession and the Siren battle royale. Words recanted, yes, but not forgotten, not dismissed. More proven than disproven on more than one occasion. So Sam thought his plans were suicidal and he regretted giving him the amulet…fine, he could deal with that, tuck it away with the memory of Sam pulling the trigger repeatedly of the .45 he had aimed at his head, empty clip or not, and his little brother nearly choking him to death. Well, he _tried_ to tuck it all away. But things were crawling to the surface, things he didn't like thinking about: like Bobby, Cas, Hell, Lisa dying in his arms, the look in Jo's eyes when she was about to torch him alive to satisfy Osiris sense of justice and his **daughter's** '_please don't let him hurt me'_ plea.

Knowing what had the power to keep the lock on his personal curse box of memories, Dean announced to the empty room, "I need a drink." And he had just hit paid dirt, had dug the bottle out of his bag, had unscrewed the lid and was raising the bottle to his lips…when Sam exited the bathroom. Abruptly Sam stopped, gave him that _disappointed_ look. And didn't that make Dean want the drink one hundred times worse.

Deciding it was best to go on the defensive, Dean demanded, "What?"

Sam told his shoulders to shrug, wanted to play it casual, like it didn't scare him that Dean was being careless enough to combine alcohol with pain meds _and_ a concussion. Which, by the way, was a sheer fire way to go vegetable, like some of the mental patients he had seen being guided around the psychiatric ward. But he was too tense to shrug, too worried to keep silent. "Really?" he challenged, pointedly dropping his eyes from his brother's face to the bottle of Jack and then back up to Dean's face. "With pain meds and a concussion?" his tone conveying that the "idiot" part of his question was understood and need not be spoken aloud.

"What can I say, I've trained my way up to heavy weight class," Dean bragged, lifting the bottle, could almost taste the liquor, was so ready to just slow down his thought process, pare it down to focus on one thing at a time. And right then, taking a drink, regardless of Sam's pissed faced objection, was step one.

"Dean," Sam bit out his brother's name, couldn't believe Dean was being so juvenile. "Just use some common sense!" he caustically snapped, stepping forward and grabbing the bottle's neck, stopping the liquor's ascent to his brother's all too eager gullet. But when he tried to pull the bottle free of his brother's grip, Dean didn't relent.

Tightening his hold on his prize, Dean sarcastically threw Sam's own words back at him, "Thought you didn't _care_ how I dealt with things."

"Yeah, well apparently I was giving you too much credit," Sam retorted, astonished that Dean thought he was going to passively watch him hurt himself. "I thought I could trust you to hold off drinking 'till the case was over. Aren't you off your game enough being doped up on drugs and seeing double? You're supposed to have my back or aren't we playing by those rules anymore." Then with a vicious yank, he slipped the bottle from Dean's grasp. Immediately, he took a step back, didn't know how feral Dean would react.

But Dean didn't charge, didn't try to snatch the bottle back. No, what he did was far worse. He smiled that closed mouth smile of his, the one he broke out when he was hurt the most but didn't want it to show. And it always _always_ heralded a retaliation that he jerry-rigged with the last of his defenses. He had given Azazel that smile in that small cabin, right before he baited him. 'I b_et you're real proud of your kids, too. Oh, right. I forgot, I wasted 'em.'_

True to form, Dean's next words were a taunt, designed to get a reaction, practically ensured that Sam would strike out at him.

"Least I'm open with my addictions," Dean stated, his tone even but his eyes glittering with angry hurt. "Don't sneak around and lie to you about them," his condemnation carrying in the hiss of words. Remembering all of those months of Sam lying to him, ditching him to be with Ruby, to feed his thirst for blood, Dean felt his hands tighten into fists.

Sam literally saw red, and that so wasn't a good shade when Dean's insinuation was about blood, his drinking blood, craving blood, nearly killing his brother during a heady blood-high. When it came to whose addiction topped whose, he had Dean beat, hands down, had friggin' admitted that, that he had no room to talk. But did Dean drop it, no! Kept harping on things Sam couldn't change.

"Fine. You wanna end up with brain damage, be my guest!" Sam shouted but he couldn't hand the bottle back to Dean, couldn't give his brother the means to destroy himself. Instead, he hurled the bottle against the bathroom door, enjoyed the sound of the shattering glass, the stain of alcohol on the wood, the rivets of liquid, now useless to his brother, running down the door to the floor.

Then Sam was torpedoing for the exit, needed to get out before he started throwing things **at** Dean….like his fists. He nearly ripped the door off its hinged as he opened it but before he could make his getaway, his brother's demoralized words stopped him.

"Go. Leave. Do what you always do." And Dean wished he could find a way to stop hurting every single time that Sam walked out the door, to be strong enough, _smart_ enough to just let him go and let it end. To let it all end. To stop wanting to keep a hold on something, on _someone_ that would never stay, never want to just stay. Unable to bear standing there and watching Sam walk out on him, _again_, Dean turned away.

Sam slammed his hand against the door frame, the sound snapping Dean's head around.

Seeing that Sam wasn't through the door, was not moving, was not committed to going….but not set on staying either, Dean found himself holding his breath.

Sam closed his eyes, didn't want to hurt Dean, never wanted to hurt Dean. It was why he repeatedly chose leaving over staying, chose silence over saying words he couldn't recall, words that Dean would take to heart, that would hurt his brother. But leaving, that wasn't hurting Dean any less, was maybe doing more damage. If only he knew the right thing to do!

"I don't know…" he stammered, his back to Dean, wanting to seek help where it was always offered, even when he least deserved it. Turning around, he saw Dean's face, read the wariness there. His brother's walls were stuck, half way down and half way up, told him that Dean anticipated being hurt but was hoping to be wrong, to find that he wasn't reaching out blindly for someone who wouldn't reach back.

It was Dean's doubt that struck Sam, like Dean thought he _wanted_ to hurt him, that he lay awake at night dreaming of new inventive ways to scar his brother. Instead of the opposite being true, that he lay awake sick as the scene with Dean's amazon daughter replayed over and over, as he overheard Dean tell her to walk away, promised to not go after her, watched Dean waiver, wear that …that _look_ and he knew that Dean was about to consciously choose to die rather than shoot a teenage monster whose graduation exam was killing him.

Stepping back into the room, toward his brother, Sam charged, "Can't you see things from my side for a chance?" '_That I don't want to lose you. To have some addiction take you away from me_.'

"Right, 'cause my side isn't good enough," Dean lowly returned, should have known Sam couldn't see the forest for the trees, that his taking a drink, it wasn't just for his benefit, was for Sam's benefit as much as it was for his. Sam didn't need him coming unglued, getting all pessimistic. Sam didn't react well to him saying how he really felt like, 'It's going to end bloody.' 'If we live that long…' Funny thing was, he had thought he was doing pretty good by giving the only pledge he could to Sam's '_don't get killed'_ plea: "I'll try my best."

But none of those were good enough for Sam. The _truth_ wasn't good enough for him.

Sam fought the urge to turn tail and bail, to quit before there was blood shed. He didn't want to pick a side, didn't want there to even be sides. The only side he cared about was him and Dean being on the _same side_. Exhaling, he marshaled his priorities and then met Dean's eyes head on. "Look. All I'm saying is…I don't want you to push yourself and…"

"What? Get killed?" Dean challenged, followed it with a shake of his head and a bitter laugh. "You're a hypocrite, you know that?"

"What?" Sam nearly squeaked, face scrunching up in unabashed confusion.

But Dean had his opening and he wasn't going to let it slide by, had been carrying this around with him for the past few weeks. Stepping closer to Sam, almost daring his brother to retreat, Dean drawled, "You lectured me about not letting myself get killed and you….you go and _give up on me_," the last words crumbling into a croak because talking about Sammy dying, that was never going to get any easier. Part of him enjoyed Sam's startled blink, knew that his brother couldn't play dumb, knew exactly what he was referring to: Sam's fatalistic words back in the psychiatric ward.

"I didn't give up…not on you," Sam quietly refuted, eyes glossing over with a thousand emotions Dean couldn't interpret.

But anger mixed with Dean's remembered fear. "You told me I shouldn't even _bother_ trying to find help for you. And you were _fine_ with dying, told me I shoulda seen it coming. What part of that doesn't sound like you giving up, Sam?"

Sam didn't speak right away, recalled that moment with sharp clarity, telling Dean 'I'm just saying..don't do this to yourself,' seeing the flinch of pain that had crossed Dean's face, watching his brother walk away and leave him behind. Swallowing, he hoarsely admitted what had motivated his words, motivated so many of his actions. "I didn't want you to get _hurt_." But that was only at its simplest form. '_For you to get lost, egged on by false hope, do something unbearable, like make another deal, risk your life, or, God forbid, die trying to save me. Again.' _

"Oh, yeah. Because you dying on me wouldn't be .." Dean had started off strong, indignant but then his emotions tripped him up. "…like…." '_Like everything good in me died. All over again_.'

But it was written all over Dean's face for Sam to see: the fear, the grief, the pain. Everything Sam had put him through…that Sam had been through every time Dean teetered on the edge of breaking up their duo act by dying on him. Suddenly, Sam needed Dean to know it was never about him willingly leaving, that he would never leave Dean of his own volition, not for forever. "I didn't give up. Not. On. You. I…I waited for you."

Dean stilled, knew that Sam's distinction of his words was supposed to mean something.

"To come back," Sam finished, had sworn that he wouldn't give it, to his hallucinations or to his failing body, would endure the torture as long as it took, until he saw Dean again, laid eyes on his brother one last time. He had done far harder things in the name of brotherly love – had jumped into the Pit, not for something as noble as saving the world but to save one fragile, priceless human's life: his brother's.

So he had held out, didn't let go, had stayed earth bound until Dean returned, until he could say goodbye to his brother. And even now, Sam wondered, if that had been the end, if Cas hadn't stepped in to be his sacrificial lamb, would he really have been strong enough to let Dean go, to be without his brother, in hell or in heaven. Because when he looked into Marin's brother's eyes in his ward room, he had understood the possessive, fanatical, desperate love that he saw in the dead boy's eyes, knew a similar pool of need dwelled deep within himself. That brother had tried to kill his sister so they could be together. But Sam, he had done worse: he had been willing to open a devil's gate and unleash hell on earth to get his brother back, had been so desperate to protect his brother's life that he had started the end of the world.

'Hypocrite' didn't _start_ to tally his sins.

Dean felt his stomach drop. Sure, he had pulled Cas out of his hat and saved Sam but it had been a close call and, now, to learn that, all along, Sam had been there, holding on, expecting…trusting him to save him. "Yeah, for me to come back ….with a healer," Dean restated, understood Sam's declaration then. That Sam was saying he hadn't quit, not really, had still believed, even if it was more hope than faith, that his big brother would make everything alright. '_Sam, when are you going to open your eyes, see me for who I am. A screw up…and much, much worse. No one you should put your last ounce of faith in_.' He wasn't prepared for the soft smile that transformed his brother's face, for the warm glow that shone in the eyes he knew better than his own.

It was almost funny to Sam, how clueless Dean sometimes was. Especially when it came to his own worth, to what he meant to his little brother. "Nope, wasn't expecting a healer. I was just waiting for you, Dean. All I cared about was seeing you," Sam earnestly revealed, didn't care if Dean instantly hid behind his defenses, called him a girl, retorted with some lame joke to fluff off his little brother's declaration.

But Dean didn't do any of that, looked, instead, like he might skitter away if Sam reached for him. So Sam remained rock steady but didn't loosen his brother's gaze from his own, needed Dean to not run from this. But most of all, he needed to get it through his brother's concussioned skull that, what mattered most to him in the world, was him.

At a loss of how to even start to process what Sam had said, Dean changed gears, jumped to a new track, and put his mind on the road ahead. "Let's grab some breakfast," he announced a full minute later. Anxious to get out of the room, into a parcel of space that still had some air in it, to someplace where he had room to dodge and dismiss and dissect his brother's conflicting actions and too candid words.

Not prepared for Dean's out-of-the-blue suggestion right there in the middle of, whatever they were having, Sam almost protested..until Dean stopped his headlong stride at the door to turn expectantly toward him, like Dean was waiting for him.

Suddenly, it was enough for Sam that he and Dean were leaving the room **together**.

Grabbing his shoes, Sam tugged them on, gave Dean an assessing look. But no impatience marred his brother's features. Instead, Dean leaned casually against the door jam, like he'ld gladly wait there all day for his little brother to get ready and finally join him.

Dean didn't move until Sam was beside him, until their eyes met, until he knew that they were OK. Then he headed out of the room, knew that Sam was behind him, that their parting-of-the-ways had been averted. '_But for how long_,' rang through Dean's head because Sam never stayed forever, because sooner or later he would screw things up, make it impossible for Sam to stomach to be around him.

It was the law of averages with him: everyone left him. Sam just had the uncanny habit of coming back to him.

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Their breakfast conversation was stilted, even though it was all case talk and they played dodge ball with their eye contact, made sure their inspections of one another were only made when the other wasn't looking. Even the waitress sensed the unease, gave them a strange look, tried to be a peace maker and joke with them. "Well, I haven't seen you two handsome boys before. Looks like you've had a rough time of it," the mid sixty year old, dirty blond haired woman compassionately remarked, jerked her order pad toward the bruising on Dean's forehead right at his hairline.

Self-conscious of his appearance, Dean raised his hand, wondered if he was bleeding again. But his fingers didn't meet any wetness.

Noting that Dean wasn't making a comeback, Sam turned to the waitress, offered, "He was in a car accident yesterday."

The waitress's concerned eyes pulled away from Sam, settled again on Dean. "Well, in that case, I guess you're lucky to still be here with us."

Sam flinched at the statement, at its unintentional bluntness, corrected in his head, '_No, __I'm__ the one who's lucky. I didn't lose Dean.'_

Bolstered by the waitress's open friendliness, Dean dropped his hand to the table and gave the woman a charming smile. "I couldn't checkout and deprive thousands of women their chance of meeting me."

That garnered a lighthearted chuckle from the waitress. "You do have charm. in spade. But your humbleness, that one you have to work on, Romeo. Now, much as I like chatting with you boys, my boss will fire me if he doesn't soon see me moving onto our other customers. So what will you be having? We'll start with the shy one…" she said, turning to Sam and giving him a motherly smile and a knowing wink.

Sam beamed at the woman's inclination to tease Dean, that she was giving him the opportunity to playfully join forces with her against his brother. Shooting Dean a smug look, he turned a brilliant smile on the waitress. "I'll have the fruit platter with a side of oatmeal. Coffee to drink."

Penning the order down, the waitress turned to Dean, prompted, "Ok, darling. You're up."

Sitting back in the bench seat, Dean gave his order with a smile before handing her both of their menus. She gave them a warm nod and then headed to a pair of customers patiently waiting two tables away.

Eyes scanning the patrons of the restaurant, meeting their ready smiles, their light laughter catching his interest, Dean stated, "This town is weird, right?"

Sam didn't follow his brother's gaze, focused instead on Dean's profile. "Weird …. " he dropped his voice as he continued so no one else heard him, "..like it had a guy bursting into flames and too many car accidents at the town limits? Then, yeah," he agreed with a snort. That was obvious. But Dean was shaking his head before meeting his gaze.

"No, I mean…._this_…" he swept his hand back and forward, indicating their surrounding companions. "A chief police who doesn't arrest us, a town full of people who are actually nice to each other." He jerked his head to the gathered band of men sitting at the countertop, all of them laughing, mock arguing over who got to pick up the tab that day.

"And to us…" Sam slowly put together, saw Dean's eyebrows raise in question so he explained. "The deputy saved your life, the medic blackmailed you into going to the hospital, the waitress…heck, even the desk clerk at the motel asked if you were alright when I got ice."

"So creepy?" Dean half stated and half posed.

Giving Dean a patient look, Sam countered firmly. "Nice. _Normal_," he stressed at his brother skeptical look. "Dean, contrary to your paranoia, not everyone is out to get us."

"Says the guy who was not on the receiving end of a vengeful tree's attention," Dean mumbled back, smiling as the waitress delivered their coffee and then was on her way again.

Sam couldn't hold back a chuckle at his brother's way with words. "Vengeful tree? So now the tree had it out for you, _personally_?" he prodded, knew that he had Dean when his brother smirked.

"Fine," Dean relented. "Cross vengeful tree off our list but what does that leave us with exactly?"

Sam's humor dimmed. "People dying who shouldn't be?"

"In a restaurant across town, at the town limits, in fires, in car crashes, alone, with other people, with _witnesses_," Dean rattled off the facts they knew. "Two guys..three if you count my moving violation, and then the family in the car. Men, a woman, children. Young, middle age, kids, a man in his very _prime_…" and he gave a boasting smile, hoped Sam could figure out which he was in the list.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's 'humbleness.' "We need to know if Brendal Larson had connections to those people. Had reasons to want them dead."

"He wouldn't have been born when the first guy died, Sam," Dean pointed out.

"Ok, maybe his _family_ had connections with that guy. Something has to tie in with Brendal."

Dean played with his silverware on the table, gave Sam a hooded look. "Thought you were pitching the theory that Brendal was a victim in all of this, that the chief has an innocent man in jail."

"We don't know what Brendal is, how any of this fits together so let's….let's keep our options open," Sam carefully suggested, knew that Dean had been shaken by the elder Larson brother's words in the jail. But he didn't know in what way and Dean still wasn't saying. So he was going to use kid gloves with his brother when it came to Brendal and just see how things played out.

Dean opened his mouth to reply to Sam but the sound of plates breaking snagged his attention. It was followed by a thump on the restaurant's portioned wall right beside a doorway that lead supposedly to a banquet room. Then a woman screamed.

Instantaneously, the brothers' eyes met and then the Winchesters moved as one, bound from the booth and ran for the source of the trouble. It was evident that Dean's leg was still bothering him when Sam reached the door first. He swung it open.

"Huh," Dean vocalized at the sight before them. It looked like a saloon brawl from a wild west movie. Everywhere they looked, people were fighting, knocking over tables, stepping on plates and food and kicking cups that were littering the floor.

"Oh my goodness," came a woman's exclamation behind them and Sam spun around, grabbed their waitress by the waist and halted her attempt to enter the fray.

"Whoa. No. Stay out," he ordered, found he didn't want any harm to come to the woman who had been kind enough to cajole he and Dean out of their standoff.

She put a hand to her mouth in horror. "Someone needs to stop them."

Shooting Dean a look over his shoulder, Sam read the agreement in Dean's eyes. Their job description covered all kinds of crazy crap. Facing the waitress, taking the time to read her nametag, he calmly assured, "Jamie, we'll handle this, Ok. I think you should call the police…"

Eyes darting a moment to the carnage in the other room before returning to the tall kid's kind eyes, Jamie nodded her head then she slipped away, was heading toward the phone behind the counter.

Confident that the waitress was safe, Sam turned around, exhaled as he gave Dean a look and then, as they stepped into the mayhem, shoulder to shoulder, he found himself quoting Shakespeare under his breath, "Once more into the breach…"

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TBC

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Thanks so much for continuing to spend time with this story and for my awesome supportive reviewers!

Have a great evening!

Cheryl W.


	5. Chapter 5

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 5

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Dean quickly found that it was far harder to stop massive brawls than it was to start them. After all, he was no virgin when it came to mixing things up with his fellow drunkards at any given local watering hole but this…this was out of hand. As soon as he yanked one man backwards, away from his adversary, he literally was bumped into by another set of brawlers, causing him to lose his precarious grip on the guy he held. A guy who immediately went back to his sparring mate, fists flying.

So, though it wasn't his first choice, Dean resolved to try and reason with the next set of fighters that he pulled apart. Grabbing a man's fist, he halted it from landing and then pushed his way between the two combatants. But he couldn't find words, spent the next seconds with his head swiveling in astonishment from the man to his left to the man on his right. Before he could put everything into a logical context, the two men decided that _he_ was the enemy. The man on the right delivered a right cross to his cheek and two seconds later, the man on the left sailed a fist into his gut that bent him over.

Groaning, he remained hunched over but managed to retreat back a few steps out of the resumed battle between the two men. When he backed into someone, he spun around, fist raised only to come face to face with Sam, a Sam who was sporting a cut on his cheek. He didn't even _want_ to resist when Sam grabbed him by the elbow and pulled them both back to the outer rim of the room.

Half leaning on the wall and half leaning against his brother's shoulder, Dean wheezed out, trying to catch his breath. "I know I was seeing double yesterday, was a little wonky today but …" he raised a hand to point to the closest fighting duo.

"Yeah, twins," Sam stated, eyed the identical and not identical individuals scattered about the room. To their credit, the female twins were mostly running for cover or staring at the carnage with wide eyed fear from the sidelines. "Watch out!" he called out, gave Dean a well-meaning but rough shove to the right even as he dove left. From his new position on the floor, he saw the two brawlers not only hit the wall where he and Dean had been moments before but go _through_ the wall. He took Dean's pro-offered hand and was helped to his feet.

"So what are we talking, twin convention -anger management class combo gone wrong?" Dean surmised, flinched as he watched a man deliver a vicious knee to his twin's family jewels. "Whoa! So not cool." And it was motivation enough for the brothers to wade back into the battle.

It didn't take long for them to once again lose sight of each other in the skirmish.

Dean had one clear Sam sighting though. Wincing as his brother took a hard clip to his jaw that dazed him, he was about to intervene when somebody slammed into him from behind, jumped on his friggin' back like a howler monkey. The person was light but frenzied, and his back wasn't up to the abuse of giving out free piggyback rides, not with twenty some stitches holding his skin together. He cried out and just knew he was headed to his knees. Would have too if the person hadn't suddenly been pulled off his back and a supportive hand hadn't slipped under his underarm and prevented that very outcome.

"Screw this," Sam groused, slipping his arm around his brother's back and beginning to steer them through the maze of fighters. He couldn't believe that he had had to haul a _woman_ off his brother's back. Apparently she had gotten indignant when Dean had gone proactive and punched a guy before he punched him. So what, two sets of twins? Brothers and Sisters? He guessed, didn't give it much more thought as he guided Dean through the door back into the regular dining area. Pushing and shoving roughly through the throng of useless onlookers, he soon managed to settle Dean into their booth. "Ya all right?" he asked, crouching down to look up at Dean's face which was pale enough to make his brother's freckles starkly stand out.

"Define alright," Dean hissed, bowing forward, hand maneuvering behind him to press on the wound on his back.

Sam scowled, Dean not bothering to downplay his pain proved just how not alright his brother was. '_I should have told him to set this one out._' But he nearly snorted at even the thought of how well that would have gone over with his bravado big brother.

Knowing that Sam would make a mountain out of a molehill if he didn't shake off the pain, Dean dropped his hand from his back and straightened, got his first good look at Sam. The sight of blood on his brother's lips, it chilled him, reminded him all too much of what their earlier argument had been about. Suddenly it replayed all over again in his head, seeing Sam dupe up on blood for the first time, played in sharp, cruel, unfiltered HD: Sam lifting his head from the neck he had just drained, turn to face him, blood coating his lips, dripping down his chin. And then his brother, the brother he loved more than anyone else in the world, raised his hand. And, God help him, he had recoiled, had truly believed that Sam was about to kill him.

Dean would have given anything to have reacted differently. Vowed that it would _never_ happened again. After his actions in Hell, it wasn't like he had any room to judge but he had been afraid…of Sam. And that wasn't something he ever wanted to feel again. For Sam's sake as much as for his own.

"Are you OK? I saw you take a hit to the kisser," Dean said, his words not coming out as casually concerned as he had hoped, were a bit rough and he knew his expressive eyes left Sam's gaze to dart to the blood on his brother's lips.

Not missing Dean's pointed look, Sam self-consciously put his hand to his lips, found liquid coating it. Raising his fingers, he stilled when he saw the blood. It didn't take much imagination to guess what memories, what suspicions were bouncing around in his brother's head. Hastily, he grabbed some napkins from the table's dispenser and roughly wiped his lips, wanted the blood gone, to not let Dean's doubt grow, all the while praying that he wouldn't see that look, that fear in his brother's eyes that he had seen before. A look that told him, even when Dean had been too kind to say it, that he was a monster. A monster that even his brother was afraid of.

Startled when a hand touched his back, Sam snapped his head over his shoulder and found the waitress, Jamie, crouching by their booth, holding out lumpy handtowels.

"Ice…for …" Jamie explained, pointing to Sam's cut lip and the red blotch on Dean's left cheek. "I shouldn't have let you two go in there," she remorsefully announced, like a mother who had unknowingly let her kids play with bullies.

The idea of this woman thinking she let them do anything was comical, had the brothers sharing a look and fighting to keep their smirks in check.

"It was our decision, maim," Sam gently stated. Slowly letting his smirk emerge, he continued, "It's not the first fight we've been in…."

"And it won't be out last," Dean brazenly announced with a cocky smile.

The waitress's features changed from worried frown to a mischievous smile. "I somehow don't doubt that. And it's OK to call me Jamie."

"Sam," Sam introduced, before pointing to his brother. "Dean. So, stuff like this happen often?" he nonchalantly asked.

"No. Few shouting matches but never fists flying," Jamie answered, her eyes drifting to the men fighting beyond the doorway before being snagged by a man wearing an apron. "Oh my boss is waving me over. Your meals are on me today," Jamie announced, left before either brother could voice a protest.

Giving Sam a nudge with his elbow, Dean jerked his head toward the sign on a tri-stand. '_The Cooper Flat's diner welcomes_…'and then handwritten was '_The Gilbert County Twin Assoc_.'

Sam was about to make a comment to Dean when four police officers stream-rolled into the diner and made a beeline for the banquet room. But instead of the sounds of destruction tapering off, it took on a new crescendo. Then two familiar men strode into the restaurant, both sporting civilian clothing.

"Oh great," Dean undertoned with dread, starting to face the window. But he was too late. The medic had already seen him.

Wade nearly came to a stop when he saw his patient from the prior day among the diner patron's, holding a makeshift ice pack to his jaw line, no less. '_Can't this guy stay out of trouble for even a day?_' he wondered, his reprimanding look clashing with Dean's insurgent gaze. Before he could cross over to Dean, chew the guy out for not avoiding blows to the head when he had a concussion, Nathan tugged on his arm. His friend was obviously impatient to get where the action was. Giving his head a jerk toward the two brothers, he watched as Nathan gave a respectful nod, like the two men were part of the same fraternity he was and then he stalked off toward the action. Sometimes Wade wondered if his friend actually thought there was a 'deputy of the month' pool going because they were both off duty when the call came in and Nathan still came running, dragged him along for good measure.

Watching Nathan disappear into the other room, Wade knew he had to get in there, have his friend's back but he spared a second to call across the restaurant Dean. "You and I will talk later," he vowed, enjoyed the older man's scowl and then he jogged into the banquet area, halted a moment at the surreal scene and then set to separating the closest boxing contestants.

"Let's get out of here…" Dean suggested, wasn't going to stick around for a lecture from his friendly neighborhood medic. To his relief, Sam didn't protest. They were both starting to slide out of the booth when Jamie reappeared, their breakfast plates in hand.

"Ya can't say I let a little thing like a riot slow down my service. Now, like I said, I paid for them out of my wages. It's my way of saying thanks for stepping in, being good Samaritans," she beamed at them, so proud of herself for at least finding a way to make up for the abuse the two men had taken.

Sam and Dean forced smiles onto their countenances, both chimed, "Thank you."

Pleased as can be, Jamie flittered away.

"She is _killing_ me with kindness," Dean hissed under his breath as he picked up his fork, was going to dutiful down the pancakes, though his jaw hurt like heck. Hoped he and Sam could wolf down their food and be gone before the medic reappeared. "Eat fast," he ordered Sam.

Identifying the reasoning behind his brother's haste, Sam taunted, "Awww, are you afwad of a wittle medic? Will he yell at you and make you cwy?"

Leaning over the table, Dean drew menacingly closer to Sam and lowly threatened, "Dude, I _will_ dump syrup in your hair," and he started to raise the little syrup pitcher above Sam's head.

"No," Sam protested in alarm, his hand blocking his brother's. He almost snickered as their hands engaged in a shoving match, like they had when they were kids. And it felt so right, so good, this, _them_, that he didn't even care if he ended up having to wash syrup out of his hair, knew by the merry light in his brother's eyes as Dean recalled the pitcher back to his side of the table that it wasn't just him being an emotional girl. Dean felt the same way.

"So….brothers….fighting," Dean drew out, eyes flickering from his pancakes then back up to Sam, praying that Sam was starting to think the exact same thing he was. Because that…that would be a relief, if all this, all the crap between them…wasn't just them.

"Yeah, seems like," Sam causally agreed, was moving the theory along slowly, didn't want to make a misstep. "So this…." He gestured to the air between them, " us…" But he couldn't bring himself to say '_our fights', _jumped to the conclusion instead_. _ "..might be because of whatever is going on in this town."

"Seems like," Dean's agreement was offered in a low-keyed fashion, not like he wanted to exhale, smile big at Sam and right it all off. But he couldn't…write it all off because he remembered what he had said, that he had been a jerk to Sam, had thrown crap at Sam he swore he never would again: Ruby, the blood addiction, ditching him. And he didn't know if it was better or worse that something was screwing with them, was making him be cruel to his brother. '_Yeah, like you __need__ help being cruel,_' he internally sneered, called himself out on that load of horse manure.

Across the table, Sam was drowning in relief. Their malicious arguments? It turned out, it wasn't really them talking. That their fights shouldn't be taken as hopeless omens that he and Dean were coming to the end of the road of their relationship, that his bond with Dean, the only thing he counted on, trusted to bend but not break, wasn't in jeopardy of being taken away from him. "So…cancel the sibling counseling sessions?" he joked, knew that he would have been willing to try more pathetic, crazier things than therapy to repair what he and Dean had.

Sam's joke, his little brother's willingness to forgive him, it eased the pain in Dean's heart, allowed him to smile, tease back, "Depends. Was the therapist gonna be hot looking? Tell me to lie down on her couch?" he made his eyebrows jump to get his lewd meaning across.

Sam rolled his eyes even as it took a strong measure of will to not joyously laugh at his brother's antics. "Dude…" he put on the imploring, reprimanding don't-act-fifteen tone which only made Dean smile wider, like Sam knew it would.

"So…" Dean began but actually didn't know where things should go next. Good thing Sam did.

"So…guess our next stop is to figure out if the two men killed at the town limits also had brothers," Sam planned, mind already figuring out the media files he would request at the library to find out that information.

"I'll talk to the family members," Dean offered.

Sam couldn't help grin. "And here I thought you would want to hit the library instead," he sarcastically drawled, loved that he knew his brother so well. But the next second, Dean proved that his big brother still had ways to surprise him.

Worried that Sam thought he was bossing him around, was assigning himself the lead position in their team, Dean quickly blurted out, "I can. I can take the library. Should have some newspapers I can…."

But Sam knew what prompted his brother's proposal, was touched by it but totally didn't need it. "And have you get a pretty librarian's phone number instead of me. Nah un."

For a beat, Dean simply looked at Sam, processed his brother's deflection, the reason behind it before he countered, "Hope she's matronly like that one librarian at school: Mrs. Reynolds. I always knew you had a thing for her."

Sam's face scrunched up in disgust. "Dude, yuck. She had two black teeth!"

Then their attention was snagged by a renewed ruckus at the doorway to the banquet room. Then handcuffed brawlers were being escorted by police officers out of the banquet room, through the restaurant and out to squad cars.

Dean suddenly found his food very interesting when Wade and Nathan crossed through the doorway. He cringed when Wade spoke above him.

"I guess I have to talk to the hospital. Their staff must have given you the wrong follow up care for a concussion. It's not '_use your face for a punching bag the first chance you get'_," Wade heatedly threw out, couldn't stand when people didn't take care of themselves…especially after he took the time to patch them up in the first place.

Slowly raising his head until his gaze met Wade's, Dean's smile was all predator. "There's that awesome bedside manner of yours again. Just a theory but, I think that's why you'll always be a glorified taxi driver to the hospital instead of a doctor."

When Wade's jaw clenched and his friend took a menacing step toward his previous patient, Nathan intervened. Throwing his arm out, he barred Wade's path forward. "Give us a moment," he said to the two FBI agents with a smile before he turned to Wade and manhandled his friend back a few paces.

"He started it," Wade sulkily protested before Nathan could begin his lecture.

"Well, as long as you're going to be adult about it," Nathan taunted, enjoyed his friend's glare. But he knew the cause for the undercurrent, of his friend's heightened emotional response when it came to this particular patient. "He's not Oliver, Wade," he gently stated, wasn't surprised when Wade shoved him back, breaking his hold on him. Wade's brother was always a sore subject, might always be.

"Don't!" Wade growled, eyes blazing, couldn't believe Nathan was bringing Oliver up, comparing his brother to this…this…_'jerk who acts like Oliver more and more every time I see him.'_

Sam and Dean watched the exchange between the two men with trepidation, actually feared that punches would be thrown. And as far as they could determine, the deputy and medic weren't even brothers.

But Nathan wasn't going to back down, cared too much about his best friend. Stepping back into Wade's personal space, he charged, "No, you don't. Don't make yourself the assigned savior of some stranger you don't even like. He blows off your advice, even goes and _dies_, that's on him, not you. Just like Oliver's death was not your fault."

Wade body-checked Nathan as he stormed by his friend and slammed out the restaurant door.

Watching Wade go, Nathan sighed, wasn't prepared for the taller of the two FBI agents to suddenly be standing in front of him, looking concerned.

"You alright?" Sam asked, read the misery in the two men's stances even before the medic nearly knocked over the deputy in his haste to leave.

"Ah, yeah. Wade's just…..wound tight when it comes to his job," Nathan dismissively said before he asked, "So any ideas what started the free-for-all in the banquet hall?"

Sam didn't think the deputy was up to hearing '_supernatural spurred brotherly strife'_ so he went with, "No. We heard it start, tried to break it up and then just had to …" He faltered. '_Retreated_' sounded so bad but '_ran for our lives'_ was so much worse.

Instead, it was Nathan who supplied the politically correct phrase for '_escape with their lives'_. "…pull back and wait for reinforcements," Nathan provided, a friendly but knowing smirk turning up his lips.

Sam chuckled, "Yeah."

"Well, I'll let you get back to your breakfast. Maybe see you at the station," Nathan bade before he headed out of the door, wondered if Wade had left, was going to make him walk the ten miles back to his house. But then he came up short: Wade's car was still there…and so was Wade, leaning against the front fender.

"Thought I'll have to walk or hitch a ride," Nathan quietly admitted, coming to lean on the car beside his friend. But Wade didn't look at him, was looking at the diner, through the diner's window to the two FBI agents, one in particular.

"He said he was alright," Wade hoarsely announced and for a moment, Nathan thought his friend meant the FBI agent.

"And he was my big brother...and I thought…" Wade swallowed, tore his gaze from the man that reminded him so painfully of his brother. Kicking the dirt underfoot, he snorted, "I thought he was invincible, you know. He said he didn't' need a doctor, that he was ….fine." Raising his head, he met Nathan's eyes, "And I believed him," self-loathing in every syllable.

"Wade, you were what? Seventeen! You weren't a medic, you were just …."

"His brother," Wade spat. "I knew him better than anyone else. We were all either of us had. And I…." but his throat closed and he couldn't even choke out '_lost him'_. Instead he pointed to Dean's brother. "How do you think he'ld feel if he lost his brother over something as stupid as pride?" Because he had been there on that highway, had seen how close the brothers were, had read the fear in the younger man's eyes as he held onto his big brother.

"What do you mean '_brother_'?" Nathan drawled out, eyes shifting from concerned to fierce investigator in one blink of an eye.

Silently, Wade cursed his loose tongue. Whatever was happening with the two brothers, whatever scam they were pursuing in his town, he had had every intention of letting them do it without sending up a flare or him turning snitch. And now, since he had gotten all emotional, he had divulged that their FBI personifications were as fake as…well Dean's pronouncements that he was fine, his silent denial that being involved in a fist fight wasn't one of the stupidest things he could do, injured as he was. "Nathan, just cool down," he placated, grabbing his friend's arm when Nathan seemed intent on stalking back into the restaurant and confronting the two out-of-towners.

Facing Wade, Nathan challenged, "What? You want to make sure you do your job the best you can but you don't want me to do mine? They are impersonating FBI agents, Wade?"

"Ok. Then call the Chief," Wade suggested, hoped that his faith in the chief and the two brothers weren't misplaced. "If I figured out they were brothers, I'm betting the chief has an inkling too."

"No, he would have them in jail right now," Nathan countered, knew in his gut that his chief was as honest as the day was long.

"You said so yourself…he tends to work outside the box sometimes in his investigations."

"So, what? ! He hired those guys, told them to pretend to be federal agents," Nathan incredulously shot back.

"Hey, I don't know. I'm not the cop here. Just…let's just talk to the Chief, figure this all out," Wade soothed, giving Nathan's arm a tug toward the car, felt relieved when his friend gave in. But as Nathan got in the car, Wade stood at the driver's door. Eyes trained on the two brothers, he wished that they would look his way, that he could give them a signal, tell them to get out of Dodge, fast. But they didn't look his way, seemingly couldn't spare a glance to anyone else but each other. Cursing silently, Wade climbed into his car, started the engine, backed out of the restaurant parking lot and prayed that the brothers could handle what might be coming their way, that he had inadvertently sent their way. '_Crap, Oliver was always the one who could keep a secret. It was never me.'_

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When Sam returned to the table after talking to the deputy, Dean goaded, "Looks like you made a new friend. Did you set up a play date?"

Scowling, Sam snapped, "Sorry that I like a guy who pulled you out of a burning car and saved your life."

"I was gonna get out," Dean insisted, but there was a slight pull to his lips and a spark in his eyes.

Sam snorted. "Yeah, I've heard that before. I think it was in Burkittsville, Indiana, when a scarecrow wanted to rip your face off."

"Oh, you so love being my knight in shining armor, don't you?" Dean gushed, blinking his eyes at his brother like a love sick cow.

"Shut up," Sam laughed back, earning a smile from his brother. "Now, can we concentrate on wrapping up this job before we go all 'fight club' on each other."

"Afraid you'ld lose?" Dean good-humoredly joked.

"No. I'm afraid I'ld have to forever hear you whine that I messed up your pretty face," Sam shot back, hand doing a circle in front of Dean's face, a hand that Dean playfully slapped away.

"Dream on, little brother," Dean sputtered.

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Two hours later, Sam entered the coffee shop, quickly found his brother situated in a booth and quickly dodged the other patrons to reach Dean's side. In his excitement to tell Dean his news, he spoke before he even claimed a seat across from Dean. But Dean was talking too and they ended up saying the same exact thing:

"They both had brothers."

A bit torqued that Sam had stolen his thunder, Dean proudly supplied as Sam took a seat, "Aaaannnnddd both sets were arguing."

Sam's head tilted, that was the one thing he couldn't find out through his paper research trail. "Like disagreements or…."

"More like Cain and Abel," Dean clarified, had walked away from both interviews certain that, if the brothers hadn't separated, there was a good chance violence between them would have ended their brotherhood instead of a car accident.

Sam couldn't help but wince at the Cain and Abel reference. If Heaven had had their way, that's exactly how and he and Dean would have ended up. '_With me cast in the Cain role_….' And no matter how many times he told himself it wasn't _him_ beating Dean to death in the Stull Cemetery, he still felt the guilt, remembered the blood on his hands, his brother's blood. And he would never ever forget his brother's words as his fists were used to break bone after bone in Dean's body: '_Sammy, It's Ok. I'm here. I'm not going to leave you_.' Those memories made his conclusion come out husky, "They were leaving town" his eyes shyly finding Dean's.

Eyebrows raised in surprise at Sam's perceptiveness, Dean agreed shortly. "Yeah."

"They were fighting and one decided to leave town…" Sam surmised, silently tacked on '_Like Dean was doing yesterday. Was leaving town…was leaving me.' _And that still hurt, more than it should considering they now knew something was amping up their conflicts and the fact that Dean was still there with him._ 'Yeah, cause a tree stopped him.'_

_ "_So what are we talking about? Possessed town?" Dean theorized. "Well, possessive town. People… correction, brothers get pancaked when they go to leave."

"Or talk about leaving," Sam jumped on his brother's line of thinking. "Josh Larson, in his argument with Brendal said he was leaving town."

Dean nodded excitedly, was making the same connections Sam was, felt like they were finally getting somewhere. "Things get fatal when one brother's had it, is throwing in the towel and giving his brother and the town the finger and not planning on coming back…" Dean broke off his declaration, especially when Sam winced, when he remembered that he had almost been pancaked leaving town, that Sam thought what he just said applied to them. Him giving Sam the finger…not planning on coming back to Sam.

Sam looked away from Dean, knew he was wearing his hurt like a banner right then. But he couldn't shut out Dean's blunt description of his mindset when he was leaving him behind. And Dean's '_not planning on coming back_…' cruelly echoed in his head even as he tried to steer the conversation back to safer ground. "But something is instigating, heightening the arguments between brothers. Herding them to leave, get killed?" And he went to open his laptop but suddenly Dean's hand came to rest on the laptop's closed lip but Sam didn't look up, couldn't bear to see the confirmation in Dean's eyes.

"I would be dead right now if you hadn't called me, Sam," Dean blatantly stated, needed, wanted Sam to know that.

Sam looked sharply up at Dean, his brother's words stealing his breath away.

Having gotten Sam's full attention, Dean inhaled, knew he had to say things the right way this time. "I was slowing down, was going to make a U turn." Dean couldn't quite manage to get the full truth out, '_I was coming back to you, Sam_,' prayed that Sam knew that anyway. "Tree would have landed right on my car if I hadn't been slowing down."

Sam didn't even try to hold back the warm, goofy smile that he leveled at his brother. "Score one for chick flick moments."

Dean rolled his eyes in his typical, my-brother's-such-a-girl gesture. "We weren't having a _moment_. We were sorting crap out."

Sam only smiled wider. "In Dean-speak, that's a chick flick moment."

"Alright, can we please stop the emoting. I'm getting really, really uncomfortable," Dean groused back, but he didn't miss the merry gleam in Sam's eyes. And that was worth lowering his guard, always was. He just had no plans to tell Sam that, ever.

Sam raised his hands in surrender but his contentment didn't diminish. "Fine. Any guesses who or what could do this?"

"Curse?" Dean threw out.

"Ho doo? Witches?" And Sam added before Dean could say it, "I know, I know. You hate witches. But the last one saved our bacon with that Leviathan."

"Excuse me for not putting them on my Christmas card list," Dean said with a disgruntled drawl.

"And I can't believe more brothers haven't separated before this. One leaving town while one stayed." Then Sam opened his laptop began searching again.

"Something must have kicked all this off." Then a eureka light transformed Dean's features as he sat up straighter in the chair.

"What?" Sam prodded, closing the lap top and leaning over the table, anxious to hear his brother's insight.

"The first guy that bought it at the town limits, his brother died a little over three years ago," Dean announced like that was the Holy Grail but instantly recognized that Sam wasn't making the same connection that he was. "Three years ago like when the second accident…"

"At the town limits happened," Sam filled in, but then he frowned. "But three years? Then nothing happened until Brendal and Josh? Still not a great pattern."

Dean felt a spike of frustration surge through him. "Sorry it's not nice and neat for you. Thought you enjoyed the mystery or is this getting boring for you?"

Heatedly, Sam volleyed back, "I'm not the one whose patience has a shorter life span than a Mayfly's."

"A what kinda of fly? Excuse me, I musta missed that insect class, you know because I was too busy keeping Dad alive on hunts to even finish high school," Dean lobbed back.

"Oh and I wasn't, right? Same old argument…" Sam thundered back and then realization cut him to the quick. Someone wanted them to be at each other's throats, to hurt each other. Someone was getting their jollies watching him hurt his brother.

Dean readily picked up where Sam dropped off. "Same old argument and you still…."

"Thanks for saving me from dying," Sam blurted out, eyes holding Dean's ,watched as his brother's anger faded, then turned to shame. And that so wasn't what he wanted to achieve. They were both in this, together. The good and the bad and everything in between. "For not giving up on me and finding Cas."

Sam's words, the earnest look his brother was bestowing on him, it had the power to break Dean from the grip of his anger, even eased his guilt at having fallen for the supernatural goosing to argue with his little brother. "Huh….so you just threw that out there and ….I don't want to punch you anymore."

Sam humbly shrugged. Didn't know if it was a case of using positive reinforcement or the old adage that the truth would set you free, didn't care as long as it had worked.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, winced in pain as he came into contact with his stitched wound.

"While we're being honest…you look like crap, Dean," Sam worriedly announced, didn't like his brother's bone white complexion or the lines around his eyes that spoke of pain.

"You're not looking so hot yourself," Dean returned gently, hadn't missed the bruise that had sprung up around his brother's left eye since their parting of the ways two hours ago.

Tracking Dean's focus, Sam raised his hand, prodded the area around his eye with his fingers and promptly winced. "I don't think I like twins anymore."

"But not more than you hate clowns, right?" Dean razzed, reveled in Sam's glare.

"Let's make a deal. I'll get over clowns soon as you get over your flying thing," Sam dared but not unkindly.

"Touché," Dean surrendered but Sam was instantly beaming with his victory. And that told him that he and Sam were OK, were going to get through this, even if that meant taking one argument followed up by one chick flick moment at a time. Truly, as far as coping methods went, they had both certainly found worse. Course they always did go more self-destructive than healing when they tried to go it alone.

Accepting the truce they had once again formed, Sam rubbed his fingers along the worn table. "Whatever's going on, they don't want us to stay together." And then Sam dared to look up at his brother, hoped that Dean wasn't thinking that it was too much effort to do this all over again, to mend fence after fence, on more than one occasion a day. That he wasn't worth the effort. Unable to read Dean's expression, he announced, "We can't leave. Not separately…maybe not even together." And it was sick that there was some part of him glad for that, that they couldn't run away from each other.

"Guess we start looking at what's up for rent in this town ….or we solve this sucker," Dean stated their options, meeting Sam's eyes, letting Sam know that, however things went, whatever came their way, they would face it side by side, no matter what.

Sam's nose crinkled but his eyes were bright and hopeful. "I don't see us as small town residents." Felt the last weight dragging him down into uncertainty lift as Dean smiled brashly in agreement. Whatever or whoever had thought they could break him and Dean up was about to be utterly disappointed….not to mention, in a world of hurt.

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TBC

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Thanks for the reviews on last chapter and for continuing to read this story!

Have a great evening!

Cheryl W.


	6. Chapter 6

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: I'm apologizing right up front in case this chapter is a bore. I needed to have the boys gather info on the case and this seemed the chapter to do that in. Hope you still find a few redeeming things in it though…

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Chapter 6

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Melvin Valinski didn't look like someone who was happy that his brother, along with his brother's family, had perished in a car accident three years ago. Any more than Brendal Larson had seemed to be celebrating the loss of his brother.

"We never got to make things right, you know," Melvin's voice cracked and he shook his head, looked away from the two private investigators. The hurt was as raw as it was the night he learned of his brother's death. His eyes focused on a picture hanging on the wall, he sorrowfully asked, "You ever do anything that you'ld give your _life _to take back?"

'_Only a thousand things_,' Sam morosely thought. He knew all about regrets, about wanting to make things right and running out of time. Of being too high on blood lust, too consumed with saving the world to realize he was about to kill the one person he was saving the world _for_. That the one person who deserved his trust, had earned it, proved worthy of it, reciprocated it, was the one person he kept doubting, kept running away from. "Yes," he solemnly confessed and everything bled into that one word, all his regrets, all his guilt and shame.

Melvin's eyes lifted, fell upon the taller of the two men, the one who had spoken, the one that, his voice, the look in his eyes, told him that _he_ knew. The other man knew how he felt, had done something so wrong that there was no making it right. "I should have understood."

"Understood what?" Dean urged a little stridently, not buying the guy's remorse because what he was selling, it sure wasn't how Melvin's dead brother's wife's sister had described the relationship between the brothers. But the man didn't look at him, held Sam's eyes instead, spoke to his brother like they were in a confessional booth.

"All I could think about was what it meant for me. I didn't see his side, didn't care what he wanted. And his beautiful babies…" his voice wavered and he ran his hand over his mouth. "He wanted a different life for his kids. I see that now. Didn't want them to grow up like we did."

Though he didn't track the man's meaning, Sam nodded like he did before he posed, "Because you grew up…." Didn't exactly put a question mark there but trailed off, needed the other man to finish it.

"_Grew up_? We never got to be kids!" the man seemingly took umbrage to his own words, his own description. "We worked in that store while other kids our age played ball, goofed off with their friends, dated pretty girls. We weren't so much our father's sons as we were his day laborers," he bitterly spat and Sam couldn't help but sneak a glance to Dean even as he wondered, hoped it wasn't striking a nerve with his brother, the similarities that were there.

He didn't have to wonder. It showed on Dean's closed down features, radiated from his brother's words.

"Yeah, family businesses. Dads. They _need_ you but they certainly don't really want to have you _around_, they don't pay you, they give out crap references and you can't even get fired," Dean ticked off the _benefits_ with a wide, bitter, painful smile.

A familiar ache spread through Sam. For all the times Dean sticking up for their father, for their way of life had pissed him off, hearing Dean speak about his family life truthfully….it ripped him apart. Made him regret, not so much leaving for college, but not taking Dean along with him, for leaving his brother in a life that had slowly been tearing Dean's heart apart. '_Yeah, because the life we live now, that's got him doing jigs_,' he sarcastically countered.

Melvin nodded, a newfound trust shining in his gaze as he faced Dean. "And I wanted us to honor our promise to our Dad to keep the business going after he was gone. But Randy, he had had enough. And I…." his face paled. "The things I said when he told me he was moving away, that I could have the business, that he didn't want any part of it anymore. …I…I didn't want the business…I wanted…."

"Him," Sam and Dean finished for Melvin, before sheepishly looking at one another, their simultaneous utterance of that one word revealed way too much, to each other and to their interviewee.

But Melvin missed the telling reaction, simply agreed with heartfelt regret, "Yeah. I didn't think anything could ever come between us."

"What happened to the store?" Sam quietly asked, because, from his research, he knew Melvin worked for the township and there was no business registered to him.

"I couldn't run it…not alone," defeat leaking from the older man's declaration. "Didn't take long after…" he faltered, lost a few moments to bad memories before he came back to himself, to his guests. "Bank got her. Legacy died with…." But he couldn't even say his brother's name, knew it wasn't fair to lay the blame solely there. "I guess it died when our brotherhood did," and there was only sorrow and regret in that revelation, no longer held the anger that had been there three years ago.

A thick silence fell as all three men were convicted by that too true statement.

Dean couldn't help but mark the comparisons. How many times had his brotherhood with Sam broken, seemingly for good? '_The difference is, Sam and I…we were given time to put it back together again_.' Time that Melvin didn't get.

Sam broke the quiet, his voice apologetically gentle though the words were way off target, "Ah…could I use your bathroom?"

"Sure. Down the hall to the right," Melvin directed, watched as the taller investigator stood up, headed out the door.

Knowing that Sam's departure wasn't about his full bladder, Dean watched Sam go, was a bit startled when Sam's eyes flicked to him, didn't convey the 'I'll check out the house for hoodoo' message but held a pained apology. An apology for what, Dean didn't know, couldn't ask, not there, not before Sam walked into the hallway.

Sam's shoulders dropped and he stopped as he cleared the door's entryway, was alone in the hallway, out of sight. Dean letting the amulet drop from his hands, clank to the bottom of the trash can, that…that was the sound of a brotherhood breaking, almost more than the look in Dean's eyes when they were in heaven, when they stood outside the house that Sam had left his family behind in for a future separate from them.

How many fissures could his and Dean's brotherhood endure before there was no going back? Cold dread filled Sam's soul, turned colder as his eyes drifted to the pictures on Melvin Valinski's walls. They were pictures of Melvin and his brother, smiling, locked in a brotherly side hug, proudly posing in front of a store front bearing the Valinski name. Brothers who had loved each other…and, in their own way, had betrayed each other. And he didn't believe it was because of some supernatural meddling, was because love and need , pain and freedom, loyalty and being tied together without a choice, it all became too much. Tore apart what should have never been separated, destroyed what should have been forever.

'_It wouldn't happen to us_,' Sam fervently vowed, had to honestly amend the next second, '_Not again. I won't let it. I won't be the cause and I won't let Dean leave_.' And his conviction, it wasn't about strength, was instead about weakness, about being so desolate that taking another breath seemed unbearable. Because he had been there before, had felt unquenchable loss, once too often, had lost Dean, had faced the heartbreaking realization that he wasn't able to get him back. '_It had taken an angel to do that_,' he jealousy recalled Dean's words from their argument that sharply made that point.

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"_You wanna keep score, Sammy? Seems like I paid a pretty steep price to bring you back from the dead and risked more getting your soul outta hell than it cost you to return the favor. Oh, that's right…Dad saved my life and Cas got me outta hell."_

_ "You really doubt I wouldn't have done anything to get you out. That I didn't try everything…."_

_ "Like sleeping with Ruby?" Dean coldly interjected. "And when that didn't work the first time, what could you do but try, try again."_

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He had been dead man walking, didn't Dean know that? That he wasn't thinking about ….anything but getting his brother back, anyway….absolutely _anyway _that he could.

'_Trick is to not lose him in the first place, idgit_,' Sam chastised himself in a tone that sounded like Bobby. A bittersweet smile broke across his features as he thought of his surrogate father, of how he would look at the two boys that he had helped raise and contemplate knocking their heads together in the hopes they stopped being so stupid.

Running light fingers over the framed picture of Melvin and his smiling brother, Sam then slipped down the hallway and up the stairs, needed to see if Melvin liked to dabble in the dark arts, had had something to do with his brother's demise and the brother-on-brother conflict that was plaguing the town. But deep down, he hoped that Melvin was innocent, was a victim of whatever was happening in the town, that he was just a man who had made a mistake. '_And had lost his brother because of it_.' And in Sam's book, there were no harsher penalty in life than losing someone that you loved and knowing that you had a part in it.

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"So no black alters, no sulfur, no ancient tomes on curses and no EMF," Sam imparted as he and Dean climbed back into their rental car, a bland sedan that Dean nicknamed the Neutermobile, not only for its neutered appearance but because it only drew in one radio station, _109.5 Dedications_, with a tag line of 'Dedications, all Day, every Day and just a phone call away.'

"And Melvin claimed to not know the Larson family, the two boys or any of the family members, didn't think his brother knew them either," Dean added the info he had learned while Sam was covertly scouting out the rest of the house.

"So the only ties we got are they were brothers, were fighting…" Sam began.

"And were working their family business together, trying to keep it afloat," Dean supplied, his eyes purposefully not meeting Sam's, remained locked onto the road ahead. After all, there was never any doubt how Sam felt about _their_ family business, that all he really wanted out of life was to get away. But now he was trapped in it almost as surely …. '_as he's trapped in this town with me_,' Dean compared, wondered what the ramifications would be if, no, when they got past the town limits, once they could, without restrictions, say, act, and even go wherever they each chose.

Not certain of the vibe coming off of Dean, Sam proceeded slowly, chose his next words carefully, "Yeah, the Larsons had the restaurant, Melvin and his brother had the store." But Dean didn't jump into the pause, didn't answer the question that logically followed. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know the family business part fit them to a tee, that they were being affected so drastically because of those ties. "What about the other man killed at the town limits fifty years ago, was he in a business with his brother?"

Returning his thoughts back to the job, Dean exhaled, "Don't know. Maxwell Tucker didn't have any kids, no wife, and since his surviving brother passed three years ago, I ended up talking to one of their cousins. All he told me was Maxwell and his brother, Martin, were fighting non-stop, that it got bitter and physical then Maxwell packed his crap in his car and drove off."

"Across the town limits where…" Sam picked up the narrative but Dean couldn't resist bluntly wrapping it up.

"He got his wish…left this town and his brother, but for good," and some part of Dean happy about earning a glare from Sam for his callousness.

"So, who can we talk to, get the real scope on the Tucker brothers?" Sam asked of Dean, knew that Dean would have grilled all the information they might need, even in the future, from his interview with the cousin. Dean didn't disappoint.

"The brother, Martin, was shacked up with a woman for almost fifteen years before it ended, badly. But the ex, she lives in town," Dean merrily announced, was a bit disappointed Sam didn't show surprise that he had another lead already.

"Well then, let's talk to her," Sam prompted, mentally bracing himself to hear the gruesome details of another brotherly relationship in shambles.

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Sharon Easton looked like all of her eighty four years had been hard, and by the drink in her hand and the cigarette in the other, she could hardly claim she hadn't done something to guarantee that outcome. With a voice raspy from smoking since she was fourteen, she answered their questions. "Yeah, they worked together on the farm. Decent spread south of town."

"A family farm?" Dean stressed to which she nodded her head even as she blew out smoke, practically in his face. Dean swallowed down a cough, didn't want to give the old windbag the satisfaction.

"Martin still running it at the time of his death?" Sam inquired, glad he had taken the proffered chair at the other end of the woman's kitchen table.

She gave a bitter chuckle that almost made Sam startle it was so sharp and piercing. "No, he ran that into the ground long time before that. Blamed Maxwell but truth was, he was lazy. Think sometimes the only reason he and I got together was so I'ld move into the farm house, be his maid service. And stingy? Wouldn't pay me a dime, never took me out, anywhere."

Hoping to get her back on track, Sam said, "How did he take Maxwell's death? Quite a shock, right?"

She leaned forward, knocked the ash off her cigarette onto an already overflowing ashtray and met Sam's gaze. "Shocked, yeah. But sorry…." She shook her head. "He never seemed sorry Maxwell had died, things they said to each other that last time." She looked down at the table as if they were too cruel to be repeated. "Martin and I, things ended pretty quickly between us after that. He wasn't the same, was down-right cruel sometimes. Held onto that grudge, that hatred right up to his last breath too."

"What grudge?" Sam and Dean chimed in.

Meeting Dean's eyes then shifting to Sam's, she sat back in her chair, seemed to relish the attention the two attractive men were giving her. "You two say you're investigating this. Why? It's been fifty years and, as much as I'm badmouthing Martin, he didn't have a thing to do with his brother's death, the shock on his face, it told me that much."

"But for a second, you had doubts?" Dean pounced on that small slip of tongue.

Sharon smiled slowly. "Hanging on my every word, ain't ya? Hoping for the real dirt."

Sam calmly contradicted, "We're looking for the truth."

"Why's it matter after all these years?" she argued, didn't look like she was going to budge until they gave her an answer she liked.

Dean leaned forward, did a little cough as the smoke from the cigarette sitting in the ashtray drifted his way. Pushing the ashtray further away, he faced Martin Tucker's former lover. "It matters because more brothers have died at the same spot as Maxell, because all the brothers in town seem to be fighting, because maybe what happened between Martin and Maxwell is the same thing that happened between the two Larson brothers."

Her face had paled as Dean talked and she sat still, eyes suddenly sorrowful. "Josh…he was a good boy."

Almost excitedly, Sam sat up straighter, prodded, "You knew Josh Larson. Did …did Martin know the boys too…their family maybe."

"We grew up with their granddaddy. Handsome man, that one. And his two grandsons…" she shook her head, "It ain't natural, how that turned out, Brendal killing his own brother." She rested her measuring gaze on Dean, as if she was gauging if he was worth breaking her silence. Something in the young man's eyes told her that she could trust him to do the right thing with what she knew. "Maxwell and I….we had a fling. I was never going to leave Martin for him but…Maxwell…he was a charmer. When Martin found out, they went at it, fists and farm equipment and …I thought they were gonna kill each other, I really did. Few days later, Maxwell said he was leaving and Martin…for all his hot temper and bravado, he loved his brother, needed Maxwell's sharp mind to keep the farm out of ruin. But stubborn fool told Maxwell that if he left, he was destroying what their parents had fought and scrapped and dreamed and died to keep: that old run down farm. That if he left and it fell apart, that was on his head. That he would have to answer to their Pop in the hereafter for that failure."

"But he left anyway," Dean evenly concluded, remembered the awful quiet that had fallen in their rented house after Sam's '_I'm going to Stanford'_, after his father's '_if you're going than stay gone'_. A quiet that had settled between he and his father and hadn't seemed to ever really lift.

Sharon nodded, her dull eyes filling. "Yeah and got killed before he even made it out of town. But it was like they couldn't do well apart because after that…Martin, no matter if he worked hard for a spell, that old soil wouldn't grow a thing. He got his leg near amputated by the tiller, broke more bones that I thought a man had to break 'fore the Bank did him the favor of kicking him off the homestead. But Martin, even when he was on his deathbed, he didn't have any forgiveness in his heart for Maxwell, was gloating because he had outlived him."

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The Winchesters didn't say a word to each other as they walked out of Sharon Easton's house. Betrayal between brothers was too heavy, too personal a topic for them to brush off. And as much as they had learned, as much as it solidified the reasons why Martin's death might have started the chain again, it gave them no clear cut answer of how to stop it, how Martin might have started it fifty years ago.

Shooting a look to Dean, Sam caught his brother rubbing his forehead, noted the slow way Dean was taking the steps. Slowing down to keep pace, he worriedly asked, "You alright?"

"With heartwarming stories like that, why wouldn't I be," Dean deflected back, making to go around the car to the driver's side but Sam caught him by the elbow.

"How about answering my question," Sam pressed, using his soothing, little brother imploring tone.

For a minute Dean didn't answer, didn't plan on answering but Sam's patient, concerned gaze crumbled his resolve. Well, that and the nice bedtime story about what happened to brothers who kept secrets and bailed on each other. "My head's killing me, Ok. Felt like I was the one smoking the cig in there and she was only getting the second-hand smoke."

Though he ached to be gentle and caring with Dean, Sam knew that Dean's confession carried a lot of trust with it, trust that he wouldn't turn into a hovering overprotective nurse. So instead of letting his hand on Dean and guiding his brother to the car, he nodded his head and let his hand slip from his brother's arm. "Ok. We'll get you your pills," he reassured, even as he reached down and pulled the car keys from Dean's unprotesting hand.

Relieved to not be the recipient of a lecture or coddling, Dean wearily sank into the passenger side of the car, leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. A moment later, he felt something nudge his hand. Opening his eyes he saw what had bumped into him: a water bottle and there Sam's hand was, presenting two pain pills from a prescription bottle he had never filled but Sam apparently had. It warmed him that Sam was still playing big brother's keeper, enough for him to take the pills with a swig of water and give a nod of thanks to Sam.

"I promised to meet someone at the bar but I can take you back to the room," Sam offered, wanted Dean to pass on the bar for more reasons than Dean's present pain level.

Rolling his head to face his brother, he demanded suspiciously, "Meet who?" because Sam was doing a poor job of trying to purposefully not tell him something.

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Nathan pointed an accusing finger at his boss. "So you lied to me about those two guys?"

Nodding to Wade to shut his office door, Chief Fox ordered of his deputy, "Park it," pointing to a chair opposite his desk. Nathan slammed down into the seat like an act of defiance. Wade, on the other hand, calmly crossed the room and sank into a chair, just glad to be in the room and learning the inside scoop.

"They introduced themselves to me as FBI," the chief began.

"But Wade thinks they're…." Nathan interjected, shut his mouth as the chief gave him a commanding look to be quiet.

"Had the badges to prove it," the Chief continued, saw his deputy's confusion grow. "But then, when the accident happened, the taller one let it slip that they were brothers, not agents."

Coming out of his chair, Nathan accused, "Then why aren't we…"

"Because last time I looked, running this police station was my job, not yours!" the Chief thundered back but Nathan paced the office's length. "They do private investigations into….stuff like what happened to Josh Larson."

Nathan halted behind Wade's chair, narrowed his eyes at his boss. "Stuff like what? Fratricide?"

But Wade caught on quicker than Nathan. "You mean weird deaths?" The Chief nodded.

"Weird? Brendal, whether I want to face it or not, stabbed Josh. Somehow…" but once again the Chief spoke over him.

"…started him on fire? Come on, Nathan. You're a better investigator than that. You're a better judge of character than that. Brendal Larson would not murder Josh. Kill to protectJosh….maybe, but take his brother's life?"

"The facts speak for themselves, like it or not," Nathan grimly reminded. "And the witnesses and the murder weapon…"

Wade shook his head. "Knife wasn't the murder weapon. I was the first medic on the scene and that wound…it wouldn't have killed him." He tilted around to face Nathan. "The fire killed him, Nathan. A fire that no one can explain how it started."

Trading looks between his best friend and his boss, Nathan challenged, "And you think these two …two con artist brothers can figure that out, can put everything in some nice, neat box that lets us sleep at night."

"It's worth a shot," the Chief deemed, dared Nathan to contradict him.

"They tried to help out at the Diner's brawl," Wade evenly put out there, looking away from Nathan, tried to appear like he wasn't vested in Nathan taking his words to heart by nonchalantly scoffing dirt off his jeans. "The way Jamie tells it, they waded in there when it was twenty to two odds. And Dean's got a concussion and that wound on his back…"

"Dean, is it?" Nathan drawled, censure carrying in his tone. "You knew about this all along, them being brothers and you didn't tell me, tell anyone." Circling the chair his friend sat in, he loomed over Wade and accused, "You make Dean your new best friend?"

"And what was that nod you shot them across the diner? Just "Professional respect"?" Wade jeered. "Come on. You saved Dean's _life_, you gave Sam a ride to the hospital, for Pete sake. Admit you're itching to corner them, have someone tell you new stories that you haven't heard a thousand times before."

"You act like I'm gonna have a beer with them later? They are breaking the law!" Nathan growled, his eyes leaving Wade's to sear into the Chief of Police's.

Wade felt his cheeks pink at Nathan's words. Truth was, he was the one scheduled to pull up a bar stool and drink a cold one with the brothers in exactly an hour.

" You wanna do it by the book, fine," the Chief seemed to relent, but Nathan already sensed the trap his boss was setting for him long before the first law book hit the Chief's desk. Pulling another book off his impressive shelf, the Chief let that one crash to his desk on top of the other one. "What law did Brendal break by standing beside his brother when he caught on fire, huh? Accomplice? Perpetrator because he's some sorcerer that can generate fire? Maybe he just thought of flames and, poof, there they were."

Nathan slammed his hand down on the law books. "I don't know!"

The Chief exhaled, seemed to lower his own blood pressure a moment before he calmly replied, "Yeah and neither do I but these guys…I think they do. And you're gonna help them…" at Nathan's look of protest, he spelled it out as an order, "…in any way they need. Unless you think your good friend Brendal deserves to rot in prison for a murder he didn't do. Maybe that suits your sense of justice."

With a glare, Nathan stalked for the door, yanked it open and disappeared down the hallway. Wade got up, nodded to the chief and was about out the door before the Chief spoke, brought his attention back to the man he always respected.

"There's something about them, isn't there? An earnestness…even when they are lying," the Chief prodded, needed to know that someone saw what he did in the two brothers.

"Happens I guess…when you're lying for the right reasons," Wade said before he left the chief's office. Hurriedly he tried to make his way through the mayhem that was the booking area. Dodging outbreaks of fights and officers trying to subdue them, he vaguely wondered if it were a full moon. Then he was outside, scanning the area for Nathan because now his friend just might agree to join him for a few drinks with some new friends he had made.

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But as Wade approached his "new friends", he heard the two brothers lowly hissing words across the table at each other and suddenly had his doubts about how the night was going to turn out.

"If you're gonna be a jerk about it, you shoulda let me drop you off at the motel," Sam irately snapped.

"Because you love doing things without me, behind my back…like testing if Bobby was around," Dean accused.

"I was trying to protect you," Sam delivered with a sharp growl that belittled the consideration behind discussed actions.

Dean snorted. "Protect me? Right. Your actions are always so noble, Saint Sam."

Sam leaned over the table, his eyes blazing into Dean's. "Tell me again how _you_ passed the time in H…"

"Hey guys," Wade greeted, stepping up to the table, determined to prevent the bloodshed that seemed imminent. His appearance startled the two men into looking his way. For a mere second anyway, before they were again facing off with each other.

Ignoring their unwanted guests, Dean reacted to Sam's accusation. "I knew I should have never come clean about that, that you'ld hang that over my head. Forever."

And though Dean didn't make a move to get out of the booth, Sam saw it in his brother's eyes, the desire to slip away, to barricade himself up until nothing could seep through again. It was enough to break through to Sam.

Reaching out, Sam grabbed the front of Dean's jacket with desperate fingers and gave his brother a shake. "That wasn't your fault. I know that," he emphatically declared, his eyes boring into Dean's, frantic for Dean to see that he wasn't lying.

"Then whose fault was it, Sam? Who do I blame for bre…"

"Me," Sam forcefully suggested, couldn't bear to hear Dean say that word aloud, not ever again. "I didn't save you." And he slid his hands from Dean's coat, removed his touch from his brother, knew that Dean shouldn't have to bear his touch.

"Listen if this is a bad time…" Nathan offered, was feeling really uncomfortable being spectators to the profound heart to heart the brothers were having.

But Wade reacted oppositely. The jerk went ahead and claimed a seat at the table beside Dean.

"Talking about saving people, Nathan and I saved your bacon this week," Wade directed at Dean, wanting to derail the conversation, was consumed with the need to ease the tension between the brothers that was thicker than his mother's meatloaf.

Blinking, Dean looked at Wade like he was only then registering his presence. "Guess you missed the class for humility along with the bedside manner one."

Sam found himself smirking at his brother's pithy insult and felt his flash of anger at Dean dissipate as quickly as it had come. And with that haze gone, he realized what he had started to say to Dean, had implied. Right there in the open, in public. Things were getting worse, how their fights came out of nowhere, how quickly they intensified, how their normal rule of never arguing with an audience went flying out the window. "Dean," he called achingly, needed to snag his brother's attention, to know if Dean could stand to even look at him.

But Dean didn't hesitate to meet his sorrowful gaze with a sentiment matching his own.

They were losing control and that scared them both more than most things ever could.

"I'm sorry," Sam offered, a million pleas in his eyes for Dean to accept his apology, for his brother to know that, his actions in Hell, he didn't hold that against Dean. Not for one second. He was just being cruel and judgmental and a jerk. '_Nothing new there_,' Sam loathsomely chided himself, wondered why Dean had come back to him the other day, why his brother didn't ask _him_ to leave.

Exhaling, Dean nodded, knew that Sam wouldn't have said such a thing in public, no matter what. They respected each other too much to belittle one another in the presence of anyone else. Not to mention, it was no one else's business what went on between them. But arguing in front of Bobby? That didn't count. The man was…had been family.

Seeing the forgiveness and then the sadness in Dean's expression, Sam almost pushed Dean to talk things out with him. But in typical Dean fashion, his brother dropped a car cover over his emotions.

Turning to Wade and Nathan, Dean heartily welcomed them to their table. "Nathan, join us," he bade, nodding to the open chair beside Sam, confident that Sam wouldn't dare play therapist in the presence of the two men.

The brunette deputy hesitated a moment but then joined the seated threesome. He was, after all, acting under orders. "The Chief ordered me to help you or I wouldn't be here," he groused, needed them to know that he was onto their game, didn't like their game but obeyed the chain of command, even when it ran contrary to his personal feelings.

"Okay, then," Dean accepted, gave a fake smile. "So guess he told you about what we do, why we're here."

"To prove Brendal is innocent," Wade hazarded, but didn't miss the glance the two brothers shared. "Or not…."

Sam took this one by the horns but worded his reply with care, "We don't know if Brendal is innocent but whatever happened, it wasn't just a normal physical attack."

Wade looked from Dean to Sam before he imparted, "That's what's been bothering me. There is nothing normal about a man catching on fire without the presence of flames or gas. And the level of burns Josh had…It usually takes an explosion to turn the human body into the state Josh's was in."

Dean turned to face Wade, respect and sympathy gathering in his expression. "You were first on the scene?" To which Wade nodded, the horror of that showing in his eyes. "Sorry," he offered, knew personally how unbearable that type of situation was when it was someone you knew.

"Josh was…I knew…" Wade stammered before he bit his lip, looked away.

Nathan took up the narrative. "By the time Wade got there, Josh was gone already. He tended to the burns on Brendal's hands."

"You said the fire had to be burning at an elevated temperature, so how bad was Brendal's burns?" Sam asked, knew that Brendal's hands had been bandaged up when they interviewed him in prison but he had use of them, had grabbed Dean and held on. Which didn't indicate the burns were that severe.

The question had Wade looking wide eyed to Nathan before focusing on Sam. "Mostly first degree burns, few patches of second degree," only then realizing how out of place that was. Especially if Brendal had come into contact with the superheated flames that killed his brother.

Digesting this new info, Dean turned to Sam, theorized, "So did he do that to make it look good, like he was trying to save his brother?"

"If he started the fire, he might be able to regulate its intensity, to make sure what he touched wouldn't seriously injury his hands," Sam replied, feeling better that a suspect might finally be becoming clear. "And the Tuckers knew his family. Maybe it's a family thing. There might be a connection between them and the Valinskis too."

Nathan waved his hand between the brothers. "You lost me. Now you think Brendal did murder Josh, because he can…what? Start fires? What like "Firestarter"? Man, the Chief must be going senile to trust you two."

Angrily, Dean turned to Nathan. "Then you give us a better explanation. And while you're at it, explain that," and he nodded to the two men facing off at the bar, their conversation getting louder and more heated.

Swiveling in his chair, Nathan saw what Dean was referencing to: the Osman brothers about to tear each other's heads off. Turning back to his table mates, specifically to Dean, he answered with a cocky smile, "That is Happy Hour with the Osmans."

"And the twin convention that turned into a WWF event?" Dean baited. "The tons of brotherly brawls you've probably had to break up this week."

"Then there's you two," Wade added slowly, understanding dawning in the worried look he leveled at Dean.

Embarrassed to be so easily pegged and to be so obviously affected when they were supposed to be able to handle this type of crap, Dean hoarsely admitted, without looking to Sam, "Yeah. Us too."

But Nathan either wasn't getting it or was refusing to get it. "Full moon, hot weather, heck, football games, it all adds up to more fighting and drinking. It doesn't add up to murder."

"Well, it did this time," Sam grimly announced, eyes holding Nathan's. "And we believe other deaths happened too. At the town limits, the man and his family…he had a brother, a brother he was arguing with. And then fifty years ago, another man was killed there and he was arguing with his brother. And then Dean…" Sam stopped, didn't want to add Dean's near miss to the tally of fatalities.

"But there wasn't any foul play. That family that got killed, I told you, DUI. And your brother's accident, tree fell. Pure and simple."

"Fell and, what? Jumped the ten yards to land on the road, almost on top of Dean," Sam scoffed. "You know this isn't normal, any of it."

"They're right," Wade interjected, his words for Nathan. "I've treated more injured brothers this week than…well ever. And Josh, that wasn't something we can explain away, any more than the lack of severity of Brendal's burns on his hands because the witnesses say he touched Josh, tried to …" Wade couldn't say the rest, that Brendal had tried to save his brother. He didn't know that, not anymore. Felt like everything he thought he could believe as fact was now questionable.

Reading the upheaval in his friend's features, Nathan nodded his head, agreed, "Alright. I know." Then he faced the two men that he was starting to believe might be onto something, something that definitely didn't get covered in the penal codes. "So how do we find out what's going on, stop it from turning into a murder spree among brothers?"

Surprised at the man's change of opinion of them and of their theories, Sam met Dean's eyes, hadn't expected help, not really. "Well….we need to find out how many brothers own businesses together. They are the ones likely to get the most violent."

"Yeah, you need to separate them. But more important than that, make sure neither tries to leave town, arrest them if you have to," Dean instructed, liked where Sam's head was at with this preventive step.

"Because if they cross the town limits….they might die," Wade conjectured, knew by the grim set of the brothers' features that he was right. "That means you two…"

Dean smiled his fakest of smiles. "…are stuck in your fair town until we figure this out."

Nathan stilled, faced the two out-of-towners. It was finally hitting him that this was personal for them. That whatever had happened between Brendal and Josh, they feared it would happen to them. "You two should separate too," he firmly announced before he started to delegate, "Wade can partner with Dean…."

"No," came as a duet of unrelenting growls from the two brothers.

Leaning over the table, Nathan spoke lowly but forcibly, "You just said to separate brothers who work together and, clearly, that describes you two. And if the conversation we interrupted is any indication, which it is, you are at each other's throats. How long do you think it'll be before…."

"We won't," Dean angrily vowed, didn't even want Nathan to finish that question. No way was he hurting Sam. Wasn't happening. He would take himself out before he did that ever again.

Throat nearly closed, Sam swallowed visibly. He knew Nathan had a point. Felt physically sick at the real possibility that he _could_ hurt Dean. And not just with words, though that seemed a worse weapon against Dean than anything else. The very last thing he wanted to do was hurt Dean, physically or emotionally. But that hadn't stopped him from doing just that, on so many occasions before. With or without supernatural spurring. How could he trust him to not do it all over again?

Turning pained eyes to Dean, he spoke quietly, rationally, "Dean, maybe we should…"

"No," Dean snapped, body rigid, eyes blazing, not with anger but determination, with desperation, with fear. Not of being hurt by Sam but by being separated from his brother. Of letting this…whatever it was, pull them apart. Everything in him screamed that he had to stay with Sam, that to willingly give into this fear, this manipulation, it would start a chain reaction, one that there would be no coming back from.

Interpreting the frantic look in his brother's eyes, knowing that Dean always saw his leaving as a betrayal, even when his intentions were to protect Dean, Sam croakily agreed, "Ok." Immediately, he read the relief in his brother's eyes.

But it was fear that spread through Sam like a toxin and he fervently prayed that he hadn't just condemned Dean to die by his hands.

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TBC

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Thanks for all the inspiring reviews and for taking time to read this chapter!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	7. Chapter 7

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 7

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Because Dean wouldn't give up his theory that the town was possessed, sorry, _possessive_ of its feuding brothers-in- business population, Sam found himself dutiful trailing his big brother through the woods along highway 7, a couple hundred feet back from Cooper Flats' town limits. "I don't know what you expect to find, Dean? '_Brothers Beware: Turn back now_' signs," Sam snarkily tossed out to his brother's back, barely ducked in time to miss being slapped in the face by a branch limb that swung back after his brother passed by and suddenly let it loose.

"You're hilarious, should send you on Leno," Dean grumbled, shouldering past another patch of dense trees. "If I knew what to look for, I wouldn't have to look for it, now would I."

Choosing another path through the trees, Sam drew even with Dean, saw the determined set to his brother's profile and still couldn't hold back stating the obvious. "We have leads. Real leads, Dean. There are two deaths tied to the Larson family."

Abruptly stopping, Dean faced Sam. "Even if the Larsons are doing this, if Brendal's involved with what happened to me, the other brothers in town, how's he doing it…from jail? If it's hoodoo, someone might get suspicious if he's bartering cigarettes in the joint for cat bones and black candles."

Sam's lips tightened. The way Dean said it, his theory sounded stupid.

"No, this right here," Dean pointed to the woods surrounding them, "is the trip wire. If you try and get outta town, zap. You're done." Having said his piece, Dean resumed his trek into the woods. "There's gotta be something here to cause those accidents at the town limits. An altar, a symbol."

Again following his brother's lead, Sam grimly challenged, "And if we accidently cross the town limits? Maybe you haven't noticed, but the town boundaries aren't marked real well out here."

"Guess if a tree falls on us, we went too far," Dean nonchalantly replied.

"That's great. Glad we're being smart about this," Sam muttered, nearly ran into Dean when his brother spun around.

"That your subtle way of calling me stupid? Again?" Dean demanded, a frostiness in his eyes as they seared into Sam's.

Checking Dean slightly as he shouldered by him, Sam grumbled, "Let's just prove your theory wrong and get back to town."

But Dean didn't move, stood there, his jaw tightening. "If this is such a waste of your valuable time, then why did you come along?"

Swinging around to stare incredulously at his brother, Sam spat, "Because you made me swear to stay with you!"

'_And that's the only way he ever stays, when you make him_,' Dean realized, said aloud, "Well, don't do me any favors." And then he cut to the right, stalked toward the clearing he saw ahead, lobbed over his shoulder, "I'll catch my own ride back to town."

Furious, Sam took up pursuit, hurled at his brother's back, "Why'd you want us to stay together if you hate spending time with me!"

It was enough of a cockamamie statement that Dean nearly stumbled, stopped in the clearing but couldn't bring himself to turn around, watch his brother's face. "I don't _hate_ spending time you."

"You sure act like it?" Sam defied, hands sliding to his hips, felt his emotions tipping the scale when his brother faced him, cruelly clarified, "What I hate is your friggin' whining and bragging. You're like a broken record, didn't learn anything from…" Dean broke off the next words but by the stark pain he saw in Sam's eyes, he knew he hadn't stopped himself in time.

"From what? My time in Hell? Siding with Ruby? Downing blood? You don't think that's changed me?" Sam couldn't believe Dean could even _recognize_ him most days. He felt so changed…on the inside and on the outside. Had worried that there wasn't enough of _Sammy_ left for Dean to deem worthy to love. '_And maybe there isn't. That that's what this town is telling me and I can't bear to hear it.'_

In answer to Sam's questions, Dean shrugged. "You're still the guy who gets pissed and bails on me. It's Stanford a thousand times over."

"I…..no…" Sam breathlessly started but immediately petered out.

Dean stepped closer, not in a sign of reconciliation but accusation. "Amy friggin' murdered four people. And yet, you chose her over me. Sounds like déjà vu all over again to me."

"Maybe I wouldn't have done that if you had talked to me, if we had made the decision together!" Sam shot back, voice ringing through the forest. Even now he remembered the bitter feeling in his gut when Dean's double had told him what his brother had done, behind his back. He could still felt the tendrils of that cold coil of despair, that, the relief he had felt knowing that Dean was finally trusted his judgment again? It had been so pathetically misguided.

Dean nodded, almost like he agreed with Sam's sentiments, right before his lips turned up into a vicious smile. "Right, because you're always so rational when it comes to monster chicks."

Sam knew it was too much to ask that Dean _try_ to see things from his point of view. '_Well, two can play that game,_' he sourly decided. "Fine. You want me to be the rational one, I'll go talk to Brendal, stop him from killing any more _brothers_," he announced, purposely put the emphasis on the last word just to annoy Dean, to guilt Dean into recalling that they were _brothers,_ were trying to save other brothers, that they were supposed to be working together to stop all of this.

"You do that," Dean tersely called out, which earned him a superheated glare.

"You lay all this crap on me but I'm not the only one who leaves," Sam reproached, his voice tight with everything that was churning inside him, fighting to be released. "What about you running off to be Michael's meat suit, huh? What about making the crossroad's deal and sending yourself to Hell? What about the times you're standing right beside me and you shut me out. Lie. To. Me." Seeing the denial building in Dean's features, Sam ticked off, "You rather take a drink than say one honest word to me. You say you're fine when you're so far from fine." But he saved the best for last, held Dean immobile with his unflinching gaze as the words poured out of him: "And you told me you didn't _remember_ Hell."

Dean had the good grace to drop his eyes at Sam's last accusation.

But Sam didn't relent, declared, his voice shifting from anger to hurt, "There are more ways to leave than walking away."

Giving a depreciating smile, Dean allowed, "Guess I should have stayed in Hell, would have solved so many of your problems."

Furiously, Sam slammed Dean against the nearest tree, fisted his hands in his brother's jacket and snarled in his face, "When have I ever said I'm _happy_ when you're not around?" but Dean remained stoic, closed down and Sam eased his grip on Dean but didn't release his hold, held on because Dean might try and walk away, because he needed Dean to hear this and Sam needed to say it. "You think I was enjoying parties at Stanford, glad to have you out of my life?" he incredulously asked, saw by the clench in Dean's jaw that that was exactly what his brother thought. "You don't know how many times I picked up the phone, almost called you. And when you were in Hell…" he gave a bleak snort and released Dean, stepped back, his emotions too electric now, worried that they would carry through his touch to Dean. "I just wanted to step in front of a train most days," he hoarsely confessed, his eyes welling. "So don't you dare say I wanted you there, that things were better when you were gone, that I didn't try _everything_ I knew to get you out. Just…don't," his voice breaking as he turned away, couldn't endure Dean's rejection, not again, to hear his brother's insinuation that he had taken up with Ruby to have a good time. It was so far from the truth. After he realized that she couldn't help him free Dean, he stayed with her, not so much to get Lilith, but because, making love to her, drinking her blood, it was a decimation to his soul, was no better than he deserved for failing Dean.

Half turned away, not meeting Dean's eyes, he said, "Next time, get the _facts_ before you decide how I feel."

Still processing all of Sam's words, Dean watched his brother walk away, head back in the direction of their car, not with angry strides but resigned ones. Like he was being punished, like he didn't _want_ to leave but was being asked to leave.

'_How I'm acting, it's __forcing__ him to leave. Maybe this is how it always happens, that I make it unbearable for him to stay,'_ Dean bitterly realized. Running a hand over his mouth, he fought the urge to call Sam back. '_Maybe this is for the best, maybe being together isn't the answer…it's the problem. Has been all along and I just…didn't want to see it._' But it hurt, so friggin' badly, accepting thatSam had been right all along to leave, to get as far away from him as he could. The only thing was, Sam didn't have luck with getting far enough away. _'Or going someplace I can't find him and drag him back to my side, force him to blindly follow my lead ….__like luggage__,_' Meg's long ago description still cutting deep.

Dean told himself that it was for the best that he let Sam go, struggled to convince himself that Sam wanted this, them being apart, no matter the slumped, defeated way Sam was leaving this field of battle, like he was the loser instead of the victor. But Dean still had to keep his jaw locked, had to fight to not call Sam back, to not go to Sam's side, to agree to go see Brendal together…or not. Just…go together. '_And doom us both? Great idea. As usual. Just…don't be selfish for once, let Sam go. Let him have his own life_,' he coached himself, almost turned away when his brother's earlier words about why had hadn't given up in the psych ward replayed in his head.

"_I was just waiting for you, Dean. All I cared about was seeing you_."

Dean exhaled shakily. Those didn't seem like words of a brother who hated him, who wished they weren't stuck together working the family business, who wanted him out of his life. And neither were Sam's actions on that drive away from the psych ward, when Sam was finally Sam again, no hitchhikers tagging along in his mind anymore. No, that there, had been all his little brother, Sammy.

SNSNSNSNSNSN ~ Two Weeks Prior ~ SNSNSNSNSNSN

He had driven as far away as he could from the mental hospital until the sleepless nights, the terrifying worry that Sam was dying and he couldn't stop it had finally caught up with him with brutal ferocity. So, three hours after leaving cracked Cas behind, after getting Sam, whole Sam, back again, Dean pulled into a convenience store, had to find some way to stay awake, to keep driving, to continue his plan to put as much distance as he could as quick as he could from where they had been.

But it was harder than it should have been: getting out of the car, leaving Sam's side, Sam who was asleep like the dead, cheek smashed against the passenger window, limbs loosely hanging like they couldn't move even if Sam wanted them to. It was both reasons why Dean had to stop. Sam wasn't gonna resurrect and save the day if he dozed off and veered into oncoming traffic and Sam was vulnerable right then, needed protecting and that was on Dean. So he had to be alert, be aware of their surroundings, be ready for anything. Including another encounter in another convenience store, he thought as his hand slid to the knife tucked in the back of his waist, still a bit irked that Meg and saved him last time, like he was the frigging damsel in distress.

Giving Sam one more look, cringing at the haggardness in his brother's too lean face, Dean quietly vowed, "I'll be right back, Sammy." And then he got out of the car, shut the door with a quiet click, though he didn't think an explosion would wake his brother right then, and made his way into the store.

He was in the aisle furthest from the convenience store's front door, debating which beefy jerky to buy when he heard his name being called, being shouted, nearly being screamed, over and over and over. A chill stole over him because he would know that voice even if he were 90% deaf.

Dropping his arm full of food, he bolted down the aisle and around the corner, only to come up short at the sight of his brother. And was like he was seeing him, really seeing Sam for the first time in all of the horrific time of Sam's insomnia. Sam's clothing was rumpled and hanging oddly to the right of his brother's tall and too thin frame, the scruffy beard hid and hardened his little brother's usually soft features, his hair, usually a point of specific pride with his brother, was unruly and dirty and Sam was standing there, in the store, barefoot. But it was the look in his profile that gutted Dean, that wholly, lost, terrified expression. He had seen his brother wear a similar expression, years ago, when Sam was young, had apparently witnessed his big brother being knocked out for the first time. Dean had come to with his little brother leaning over him, keeling, howling his name, sounding on the edge of a total meltdown.

But now, so many years later, Sam had truly been-there-done-that, still had the mental hospital bracelet on his wrist to prove it.

In that moment, Dean's belief, his need to believe that Cas had totally cured Sam faltered. And he feared that Sam was lost in a world of unrelenting fear and would always be. "Sammy, I'm here," he choked out, wondered if Sam would even realize that he was there, was terrified that his brother would be unreachable this time, even to him.

The change in Sam at hearing Dean's voice was startling.

Snapping his head right, Sam's surprisingly sharp gaze latched onto Dean like he was a mirage he couldn't quite believe was real. And then tears welled in Sam's eyes and his breath came out as a choked exhale that was, unbelievably, almost a laugh.

"Dean," and there was relief and joy and love in his brother's ravaged voice. And when Sam followed it up with a smile, light reflected in his eyes and it wasn't hellfire this time. "You're alight. You're here."

Not sure where Sam thought he would be but with him, Dean, fearing that Sam might be skittish, approached carefully, gently reassured, "I'm fine, Sammy. Had to make a pit stop." He watched his brother's throat bob with a hard swallow.

"I woke up and you weren't there," Sam's tone was full of remembered fear and he sounded all but eight years old.

Coming to stand before his brother, Dean guiltily said, "Sorry, Sammy. I didn't want to wake you. Didn't think you'ld even notice I was gone."

"I always notice when you're gone, Dean," Sam refuted with pained earnestness.

Surprised at Sam's statement, Dean didn't have a response, felt his own throat tighten with emotions. But a moment later, he was distracted by the sight of the convenient store clerk behind the counter, nervously shifting from one foot to the other, his hand under the counter, probably on a weapon, ready to order the crazies from his store.

Turning his focus back to his brother, Dean placated, "Sam, I'll just be a few more minutes. Meet you in the car."

But Sam shook his shaggy, unruly head of hair. "Nah. I'm good here," the unspoken '_with you'_ shining in his brother's eyes.

Because he didn't have the heart to force Sam from his side and honestly didn't want to be parted from his brother, Dean relented, " 'Kay." Then Sam followed him through the store like a little loyal puppy dog. Just the way he did when they were kids, when Dean's big brother status meant something.

So it was in a not-so-clean convenience store that Dean vowed that, everything that he had done to get his little brother back, he would do it all over again, as many times as it took, because Sam was worth it. Sam was always going to be worth it.

SNSNSNSN ~ Present ~ SNSNSNSNSN

'_And nothing's changed_,' Dean realized, coming back to the here and now, of Sam walking away from him, of him _letting_ Sam walk away, letting Sam believe he didn't want him with him, that he was better off alone. "You're tall," he called out to his brother's back, not a put down but a declaration.

Sam's face crinkled up in confusion and he slowly halted, turned to face his brother because that incongruent statement of fact after their argument, was off the wall, even for Dean. "Are you high?" he asked, but there was teasing lint to his tone.

Dean gave a long suffering eye roll. Couldn't Sam tell he was trying. "Fine. Your OCD comes in handy," he admitted, was trying to be as honest as he could here. But at the kicked puppy look he saw in Sam's eyes before they skittered away from his, Dean knew it required more honesty than that to get Sam back, to undo the anger that this town had the power to stir between them. That, however, didn't mean it had to be some deep, goopy, sloppy declaration. "Ok. Alright," he nearly growled before he confessed, "I've always been envious of your hair."

Their present conversation, it was crazy, even for them. But Sam knew what Dean was trying to do…and it was working. With a slow but beaming smile pulling up his lips, Sam gloated, "I knew it." Knew that the Nair incident with his hair, it had a little something to do with jealously and not just upping their prank wars.

"Don't get a bigger head than you already have," Dean grumbled but there was a smirk pulling on his lips. "And this does not mean you should spend more time primping in the morning."

"Rrriiiigggtt," Sam drawled with light twinkling in his eyes, "'cause I'm the prima donna. Who's been the one whining for a shower in a motel with a massaging shower head?"

"Only to treat work related injuries," Dean defended but at Sam's tilt of his head and huff of exasperation, he gave it up and let out a pouting huff of air. "Come on, Sam. A man's gotta have some creature comforts."

Taking pity on his brother, Sam gave a snort of laughter and nodded his head. Dean deserved that and so much more, deserved the happy home, the devoted family, the promise of a future. '_One out of three ain't bad,_' Sam thought, knew that 'devoted family', Dean had that in him. Would always have that and this friggin' town could go off itself if it kept trying to take that away from them.

"Sorry," they once again said in synch and their eyes held, apology and shame and relief all there for the other to see.

"I'm tall? My OCD comes in handy? That the best you could do?" Sam taunted, though it was way good enough.

Dean gave a devious smile. "Well, not the best I could do. But I didn't want to get you all choked up since it's your time of the month and I don't have a hanky for you to use out here."

"Bite me," Sam retorted but there was a heap of affection brimming in his eyes for his widely smiling brother. Then he was stepping toward Dean even as his brother was heading for him, both willing to abandon their own leads on the case in order to stay together.

But a sound had them both looking to the south, a sound like an intensifying roar. A sound they both had heard before, but never in a forest. At the ocean, when the tide was coming in – hard. Eyes suddenly shooting to each other, they knew, as inconceivable as it seemed, a flash flood was heading their way. Not needing words between them, they both started running, heading for the car, for the safety of the road's high ground.

The sound grew to an ominous thunder and they could feel the ground trembling under their fast moving feet. Then the water broke through, creating a raging river where a dry forest was just seconds ago, looking frothy like ocean waves when they crashed against the beach. But this water didn't have harmless seashells and seaweed churning in its depths. Instead it had possessively kept all the things that dared to stand in its path: tree limbs, mud and everything that once had been on the forest floor. And that number was soon about going to include Sam.

"Sam!" Dean screamed in warning, but Sam had nowhere to go. There weren't even any tree limbs low enough for him to get ahold of to hoist himself up out of the water's destructive path. Though Dean was only a few hundred feet from Sam, he was too far away, to save Sam or to share in his fate. All he could do was watch in horror as the water knocked Sam over and swept him away in its merciless current.

"Sam!" he roared in panic, beginning to run parallel to the water's current, trying to catch up to the bobbing head and flailing limbs that was his brother. Eyes scanning ahead for something for Sam to grab hold of, he found only more bad news: fifty yards ahead, the water was cascading down a sharp incline. Seemed Cooper's Flat wasn't so flat here.

Dean's legs were pumping fast but he knew he wasn't going to make it, wasn't going to draw even with Sam, didn't even know what he could do if he did. Except maybe jump into the current, try to reach his brother, to stay afloat and conscious long enough to grab his brother and a handhold onto something stationary.

Lungs bursting for air, Sam frantically tried to grab ahold of something, anything, for his feet to touch ground so he could push off, get to the surface, frigging breathe. He didn't know which way lead to the surface, kept tumbling, head connecting with something solid like the ground or a tree limb and then he was somersaulting away again. And aside from his '_gotta breathe_!' mandate, the only other thing running through his head was relief. Relief that his last words to Dean hadn't been ones of anger.

Dean felt like he was underwater too. He couldn't breathe, every sound was muffled, even his shouts for Sam, and his legs felt rubbery as he ran, slid, fell down the incline trying to keep pace with where he estimated Sam was, somewhere under the churning water. All he felt was terror and what he heard the loudest was his internal pleading that was on a continuous loop. '_Don't leave me, Sammy. Don't leave me_.'

Sam felt like he was falling but he couldn't trust his senses, not as topsy-turvy as they were. And then his perceived fall was harshly stopped as he slammed into something. Involuntarily, the impact unlocked his tight lipped posture and he choked on the water that rapidly poured into his mouth.

It was a cruel wake-up call, told him that he was drowning, _dying. _But worse than that, he was leaving his brother…just like he vowed not to he had refused to do when the wall in his head had come down, when the hell version of himself had told him not to climb to the surface, that he couldn't endure the memories. But his answer had been clear: I'm not leaving my brother.

It was the same answer today. He wasn't going to willingly leave Dean.

Blindly reaching out, Sam frantically tried to get a grip on what he had hit, what had stopped his forward motion. Could feel the rough texture under his hands, the large circumference: Tree. He had hit a tree. Getting his other hand involved, he managed to wrap his arms around the tree, would be a friggin' tree hugger if that's what it took to survive. And then he used his desperate hold on the tree to inch himself in what he prayed was an upward direction.

Dean almost kept going down the incline, almost missed the blessed sight of a brown soppy head of hair breaking the surface by a large tree, barely heard the choking first breath his brother took. Stood there balancing on the incline, limbs shaking, heart pounding and grateful enough to offer up a thank you to God. "Sam," he murmured, more a heartfelt endearment than a call to his brother. Sam wasn't dead, was there, hanging on for dear life. But more than that, Dean knew Sam was fighting to stay with him. To not leave.

And the kicker was, he couldn't help him, was trapped on the other side of the raging current. "Hang on, Sam! Just hang on!" he commanded, wished that there was some encouraging hope he could tack on. Wanted to promise his brother that he would be there soon, that the water would recede, that if he held on just a bit longer, he would be fine. But, right then, none of those things were true.

Dean's voice, Sam heard Dean's voice. And though it was muffled by his water logged ears, he knew what his brother's sentiment would be anyways. '_Don't leave. Don't let go. Stay_.' It was exactly what Sam would be telling Dean if their roles were reversed. For them, giving up was never going to be an option, not when they both knew to do so would hurt the other. So Sam hung onto the tree like it was life itself, choked up water and breathed ragged breath after ragged breath as water rushed around him. Mercifully, the water level didn't rise. Instead, it seemed to be receding, rapidly.

If Dean hadn't witnessed it himself, he wouldn't believe it. That one second he was standing by the river wild and the next, the water all seemed to whoosh by, leaving a trickling brook in its unholy wake. Thankfully, it also left behind one soaked, battered but alive little brother.

Sliding a little in the muddy remains of the flood, Dean rushed to Sam's side, urgently called out "Sam!" as he sank down to his knees and reached out to cup his brother's wet, scrapped face as it remained pressed against the tree trunk. His brother's adrenaline fueled eyes met his and he thought Sam wasn't quite coherent until his brother spoke around a hacking cough.

"I hate…this…town."

Dean leaned forward and rested his head against Sam's. "I know. I'm right there with you."

"I know you are," Sam hoarsely replied and he meant so much more than their sentiments toward the town that was trying to not only destroy their brotherhood but kill them. Dean was always right there with him.

Pulling back, Dean studied Sam's eyes, "How badly are you hurt? Should I call an ambulance?"

But at the notion of someone else showing up, intruding on what had just happened, almost happened, Sam found the strength to reach out, snag Dean's jacket with his fingers. "No. No ambulance."

Sensing Sam's refusal had more to do with an emotional response than a rational one, Dean carefully pointed out, "Sam, you were under for a while, took some hits if the scratches on your face and tears in your clothing are any indication. You should get checked over."

Becoming more alert and marshaling his strength, Sam rose his head from the tree and shook it. "You can check me over."

Dean tried on a weak smile, "If Wade were here, he would point out that I'm not a certified medical professional."

"You're my brother, trumps everything else," Sam declared, as he sat back on his hunches with the aid of Dean's guiding hand on his arm ensuring that he didn't topple over. Then he looked behind Dean, to where the water's trail had wiped the land clean, leaving only a muddy track behind. "If I wasn't all wet, I would think I dreamed that."

Dean's menacing scowl was extra proof that it had happened and his big brother was pissed about it. "Whatever's going on with this town, nature's at its beckon call, that's for sure. First the tree, now this….flood. Is there even a creek near here?"

"Don't remember one on the map," Sam supplied. "Help me up."

"Sam, maybe you should rest a bit," Dean hedged, still felt a little shaky himself after Sam's close call.

"And wait until the squirrels go commando on us, I don't think so," Sam joked, felt increasingly better when Dean snorted in response.

"Now you're scared of squirrels?" Dean taunted even as he pulled Sam's arm over his shoulder and slid his arm around his brother's waist. On an unvoiced count of three, they moved as one and climbed to their feet. Sam leaned heavily on Dean for a moment until the dizziness passed, until he ordered his legs to hold his weight and they obeyed. "You good to move?" Dean asked, intently watching Sam's face for the hints of pain that Sam would try to deny.

Sam nodded, added, "Yeah," to cement his conviction. Then with Dean's help, they began to head down the incline to the level ground below which they could follow to the road.

They had made it half way down the hill when the ground under their feet suddenly began to crumble.

Then, before they could even draw another breath, they were free falling.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

TBC

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Sick person that I am, the song 'free falling' just came to my mind! But that song made it seem like a happy thing… course for the Winchesters, everything can take a bad turn.

Thanks for reading and for those who honored me with a review on the last chapter!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	8. Chapter 8

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 8

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Dean and Sam had made it half way down the hill when the ground under their feet suddenly began to crumble.

Then, before they could even draw another breath, they were free falling.

Instinctively reaching out for something to stop his descent, Dean ended up gripping the rim of the sinkhole, but only one handedly. His other hand was coiled around his brother's wrist like a steel trap. However, both of his hands nearly lost their grip when he and Sam came to a jarring halt, when his feeble hold was made to bear their combined weight.

Gritting his teeth half in determination and half at the strain on his arms, Dean dug his fingernails into the forest floor and locked his hand more securely around his brother's wrist. Needing to know his brother's status because he couldn't look for himself, not when his face was pressed against the sinkhole's wall and he didn't think his precarious fingertip hold on "solid" ground would tolerate any more movement on his behalf, he urgently shouted, "Sam!"

From his position three and a half feet down from the edge, Sam looked up at Dean's dangling form, quickly called out, "I grabbed a root." Eager to reassure Dean that he was OK, to make sure the panic in his brother's voice didn't escalate. He had learned the hard way that his big brother didn't always act rationally when he was worried about him. Tightening his left handed hold on the root protruding from the earthen wall, he didn't worry about his other arm's safekeeping; it was moored to his brother's stubbornly unshakeable grip. Trying to lighten the mood, he offered, "Feel kinda like Spiderman, clinging to the wall."

"Great, Spidey. So climb out of the hole already and pull me out," Dean gamely countered, felt some of his fear lessen at Sam's ability to joke.

"I said I feel like Spiderman, not that I am him," Sam shot back as he started to scope out their situation. "And just so you know, down's not a great option," he informed as his eyes trailed to X-marks-the-spot where he and Dean would land if they fell.

"You wanna elaborate?" Dean had to ask, especially since he could feel grains of earth shifting under his one handed hold on solid ground.

"Ah, about a thirty – forty foot drop. Onto stalagmites," Sam supplied, wished he was wrong, that he could see a safe landing zone or even another root further down in case this one gave way.

"Well, don't sugarcoat it," Dean grumbled, not surprised at all that Sam, not only knew the correct terminology for pointy rocks that would spear them to death, but thought right then was a great time to show off that knowledge.

"How's your hold?" Sam asked, his voice echoing off the walls as he looked up, calculated the precariousness of Dean's situation.

Dean didn't need to see his hand to give a valid assessment. "Slipping."

Sam gritted his teeth at Dean's grim answer. No way were they going to die in some hole. "My hold's good so let go of me and pull yourself up."

"Not happening," Dean heatedly refused. He had lost his bother in a hole once before, there was no way he was going to do that over. If Sam went, he would go too. 'Like I should have the last time,' …at Skull Cemetery. And if he hadn't had so many broken bones, if he could have moved, crawled to the hole before it closed, he would have.

Sam fought back a sigh at his brother's stubborn loyalty to him. A loyalty that had gotten Dean hurt, even killed before. "Dean, I'm good, ok. But if you fall, this root, it wouldn't hold both our weight."

"So quit talking and start climbing," was Dean's solution.

"I'm not using you like a ladder and making you lose your grip Dean!"

"Sam…" Dean began in warning but Sam sternly cut him off.

"I'm not arguing about this with you, Dean! Let me go. The root will hold long enough for you to pull me up. I wouldn't lie to you about this, you know that," Sam reasoned. But the next second his calm façade vanished and he shouted, "Dean, please!" when pebbles dislodged from Dean's slipping hold rained down on him.

Cursing in displeasure, Dean grudgingly crumbled under his brother's panicked appeal and released his hold on Sam. But he immediately asked of Sam, "You good?" left his hand still hovering there, ready to reestablish his hold on Sam if necessary.

Instead of answering in the affirmative, Sam cried out "Dean!" when Dean's right hand lost its grip on the rim and Dean started to fall. Sam was reaching out with his recently freed right hand for his brother when Dean's descent abruptly halted.

With soul-deep relief, Sam rested his chin on the wall and sharply exhaled.

Dean's right hand had found purchase on the rim only a few seconds after the left had lost it. Then Dean had both hands on the rim, was in the process of pulling himself up. And it wasn't loneliness that Sam felt when his brother disappeared over the rim but unmistakable elation. Dean was safe. Everything else came second to that.

Then, almost instantly, his brother was back, was hanging over the edge, hands reaching for his.

"You anchored to something?" Sam asked as he looked up into his brother's eyes, unwilling to inadvertently pull Dean back into the hole.

"Yeah, to you," Dean deadpanned, snapping his fingers of the hand he had closest to Sam's face. "Now come on before your commando squirrels go for their chestnut grenades."

Letting loose of the root with his right hand, Sam reached up, coiled his hand around his brother's forearm. But he waited to make sure Dean didn't slip forward with his added weight before he released his remaining grip on the root and grabbed his brother's other hand. And then he was being pulled up.

Moments later, they were a tangle of limbs on the forest floor, were too spent to care about personal space. Were too busy sucking in air and feeling the ache of burning muscles and the relief that they both were alive to move. "Nature sucks," Dean exhaustively spat, causing his brother's head, which was cushioned on his arm to move into a position so that their eyes could meet.

"No arguments here," Sam said in total agreement but there was a smile pulling up his lips. Of course not many people could incite nature to be as vindictive as they could.

"Let's get out of Camp Crystal Lake already," Dean grumbled but didn't move until Sam lifted his hand from his arm and freed him. Then he was on his feet, getting a hand under Sam's forearm and helping him up.

On his feet but leaning against his brother, Sam shot Dean a bemused look. "You just made a reference to Friday the 13th. I thought you said those movies were lame…"

"They are…except for the last one," Dean admitted almost distractedly, his eyes straying to the sinkhole. "Sam, take a load off," he said, lowering Sam to a nearby rock and starting to head for the edge of the sinkhole. He almost jumped when a hand caught his elbow. Head snapping around, he was shocked to find Sam was not only on his feet, but had been able to cross the few feet to his side so fast. "Whoa!" He called out in alarm as Sam almost immediately started to crumble to the ground. Sliding his arm around his brother's waist, Dean once again bore the taller man's weight. "Sam, what the…"

For as weak as Sam physically was, the conviction in his eyes and the tone of his voice was strong. "Stay back from it, Dean!" Envisioning Dean falling to his death once a day was enough for Sam, he didn't need a repeat.

"I wasn't going to get too close," Dean mollified, but even so, his eyes flickered to the hole and when he faced Sam again, there was with an excited gleam in his eyes. "It's not just a sinkhole, right? It's a cave. You said it yourself, there are stalagmites down there."

Sam frowned. Sometimes what got Dean excited ended up scaring the crap out of him

"Yeah, I guess we almost fell to our deaths into a cave," Sam conceded darkly, hoped his implications were stark enough to remind Dean of the dangers of said cave, that getting closer to the hole was not a good idea. 'I'm not going to let him get any closer….' he vowed, unconsciously tightening his grip on his brother's arm.

But Dean's eyes shone even brighter. "A cave would be a great place to set up an altar. No one's likely to find it and it's gotta be right on the town limits." Pointing to the hole, he merrily announced, "That's our tripwire, Sammy."

"Could be," Sam non-committedly said. His fingers, however, dug deeper into Dean's flesh. It wasn't an unfounded fear that his giving Dean any small measure of encouragement on his theory might incite his brother to try and crawl into the hole.

"Yeah, it could be," Dean firmly shot back, a little miffed at Sam's lukewarm reception to his insight. "I say we go back to the motel, patch you up, get some rope and come back here and …."

"No," Sam stridently vetoed.

"No?" Dean incredulously repeated. "Don't 'no' me, Sam. This cave could be the key…"

"…to you getting killed!" Sam hoarsely shouted, his fear morphing into panic. The very last thing he would allow was for Dean go down into that fissure, because holes in the ground? They ranked right up there with fire with him. Recognizing that Dean was building up a fierce rebuttal, he decided to not give him the chance to unleash it. "We almost died falling into the cave. You talk about it being the tripwire, well if it is, chances are, we go down there, we won't come back up."

"Little melodramatic, aren't you?" Dean lightly scoffed But he was going easy on Sam because his brother seemed uncharacteristically fragile, was battered and bruised and unmistakably teetering on the edge of an emotional meltdown.

Sam huffed, pinned Dean's eyes with his own. "I just about died in a flash flood AND a sinkhole, Dean. Excuse me for wanting to be a little cautious."

Dean didn't offer condemnation for Sam's reactions but simply shrugged. "Fine. I'll go down…." his eyes again going to the sinkhole, already making plans in his head, deciding on the equipment he would need.

Fear trumping his exhaustion, Sam, unearthing new energy, grabbed his brother's free arm and jerked Dean around to face him. "No. You won't!" he vehemently forbade, his blazing eyes and clenched jaw indicators that he wasn't going to accept anything less than complete compliance from his brother.

Recognizing the warning signs in Sam, Dean used his sensible tone when he gave his justification. "Sam, we need to know what's down there."

"We'll do some research," Sam quickly informed, hoped he had kept his voice calm that time, that his emotions weren't still spilling through the cracks of his barriers.

"Research? Come on, Sam," Dean scoffed in rebuff. At Sam's glare, he elaborated, "Sure, I can imagine the articles we'll read. You think someone will talk about 15 feet stalagmites in one sentence and mention a hoodoo altar in the next? No one knows what to look for but us."

Desperation and determination made Sam's next words sharp, almost chiding. "This town won't let us leave, right? Will sick nature on us if we try to cross the town limits. And now…now you want to go spelunking into maybe what is ground zero?" Ignoring the angry set to Dean's face, he stated, "No, we're not going down there. Alone or together. You got that!" he nearly shouted, knew that his two handed grip on Dean was probably a bruising one but couldn't let go, couldn't risk Dean taking one step closer to the cave.

Instead of submission, Dean looked even more determined than ever to do exactly that.

Dread settled in Sam's chest, made breathing nearly impossible, made his heart thud in his ears. He was going to lose Dean, in more ways than one if he didn't get through to Dean, make him understand that he couldn't let him go down there. "Dean…please."

But Dean gave a dark chuckle, met his brother's eyes with a challenge. "This is dumb. We're hunters, Sam. We don't run from the scary stuff. We kill it."

Dean's words echoed in Sam's head..'scary stuff'. What scared him most…wasn't a curse, wasn't something from hell or purgatory. It was more fundamental than any of that, had been there in his heart before he even knew any of the other even existed. Wondered how Dean couldn't know that, after all this time, everything they had been through. "Well, I rather we be stuck in this town forever than have you dead," he hoarsely announced, craved for Dean to understand just how much he meant those words.

Just like that, Sam had gone and done it again, had made Dean's every argument seem inconsequential against the need shining in Sam's eyes and pouring out of his little brother's unvarnished declaration. And yet, Dean couldn't be angry, not when Sam was saying he wanted them to stay together, didn't want to leave, didn't want him to go. It was probably the sappiest thing his brother had ever said to him…and something Dean thought never to hear. He needed Sam, he made no bones about that, and would be content if he and Sam tooled around the country together the rest of their lives. But that was him, had never been Sam's version of a preferred future. Until now. Until everything had come tumbling down around them, until they barely knew another living soul beside one another, until they had both been lost and found again.

Not trusting Dean's silence to be capitulation, Sam pressed, "So promise me you'll stay outta the cave, Dean. I need you to stay out of there."

Feeling trapped under Sam's imploring look, Dean let his unfocused gaze drift into the woods. What Sam was asking of him? It would tie his hands, make solving the case, ensuring that nature didn't take another swat at Sam, nearly impossible. Because every second he was becoming more and more certain that the cave was the solution to stopping the fraternal deaths and near deaths, was his best lead on how to keep Sam safe. And his brother wanted him to not pursue it? To walk away, promise not to come back? To stare the key in the face and …what? Chuck it into the ocean.

When Dean refused to look at him, Sam bit his lip, knew that Dean wasn't going to listen to him, was going to go into that cave with or without him, regardless if he got himself killed. And he couldn't let that happen. With a shaky exhale, he brokenly asked, "If you want me to beg, I will," and something in his tone caused his brother's head to snap to him, his eyes to go wide. "Don't go down there, Dean. Call it a bad case of speluncaphobia or me being a girl or….just being weak but…I don't want you going into some.." and his voice cracked on the rest of his plea, "…some hole in the ground. I …it's …." Then he was the one looking away. And he was suddenly caught up in the memories of gazing down into the opening to the Pit in Skull Cemetery, fighting the desire to run away. And he hadn't been able to do it, couldn't take that final step, not without looking to Dean, meeting his brother's sorrowful eyes one last time. Not without being sure that leaving Dean was the only way to save Dean. And he had felt himself slowly but surely losing control over his own body, knew that, if he didn't jump soon, Dean would pay the fatal consequences for his weakness. And Dean had paid enough of his debts.

As the implications hit home, the color drained from Dean's face. If he didn't want to lose Sam in another hole, how could he have overlooked how Sam would feel about caves? That for Sam, they probably all felt like they led to the Pit. The rational part of Dean wanted to reassure Sam that sometimes a cave was just a cave…and then he realized how ridiculous that argument would be. Especially considering the cave that they were presently talking about probably housed a dark altar. And if he went down there and something did happen to him, if he needed Sam to come after him? No, he couldn't put his brother through that.

"Fine, no spelunking," Dean at long last agreed, tried to put enough defiance in his tone to hide his off kilter emotions. But when Sam looked at him in shocked relief, he didn't doubt that his brother detected the concerned affection in his eyes. After all, Sam usually barreled right through his barriers anyway so he honestly didn't know why he still bothered with them.

Before Sam could bust out more emo dialogue, Dean dislodged his brother's hands from his arms and gave an amused order of "Chill," when Sam seemed ready to lay hands on him again. Pulling off his own coat, Dean tossed it over Sam's shoulders and tugged it around his brother's slightly trembling frame. Then sliding his arm around his brother's waist and pulling Sam's arm over his shoulders, he started them in motion, even as he wished he could spare Sam the trek back to the car in his wet clothing.

For a few minutes they traveled in silence, Sam's exhaustion showing in his wobbly footing. Shooting his wet, pale, bruised and bleeding brother a worried glance, Dean couldn't hold back a smirk as his eyes traveled up to his brother's hair. It was plastered to his head in a style more befitting a Vulcan than Sam's usually flyaway style. "By the way, about your hair…" he waited until he had Sam's eye contact before he gave a smart aleck smile, "…not envious of it right now."

Sam hip bumped Dean for his insult but couldn't keep his smile in check. All things considered, there was absolutely no one that he would rather face a flash flood and a sinkhole encounter with than his big brother.

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Dean cranked on the heat in the sedan rental car and gave an apprehensive glance to the wet, trembling figure in the passenger seat. What he wouldn't give for the ratty old blanket that they usually stuffed in the trunk of their most recent car. But the blanket had gone up, literally, in smoke with the Pinto. And, if Sam wasn't such a long armed freak, Dean would have shucked out of his button down shirt and made Sam put it on. He was contemplating doing that anyway when Sam spoke.

"Thanks back there for…" Sam began, didn't know why it felt so awkward, thanking his own brother for saving his life. But when Dean didn't verbally brush his gratitude off but instead gave him a contemplative look, Sam feared they were headed for another argument, that somewhere between climbing out of the sinkhole, joking on the walk back, and reaching the car, the effects of the town had reclaimed its hold on them. And he didn't think he could bear that right then, to go another round, to hear another volley of how he had hurt his brother, to learn what Dean couldn't stand about him. So Dean's quiet earnest declaration, it was like some random lightning strike.

"I never wanted to leave," Dean said, couldn't stand another second of Sam believing that he ever would. Then his eyes quickly slid from Sam to stare unseeing out the windshield. But he knew he was being a coward, that just because he refused to see the hurt in Sam's eyes, didn't mean it wasn't there, that he hadn't put it there. So he forced himself to meet Sam's gaze, to face the consequences of his actions. "And I didn't mean to be some jerk you're stuck with."

"You're not a jerk!" Sam indignantly denied. But at Dean's raised eye brow and goading, if somewhat sad, smirk, he amended with a playful smile. "…most of the time."

And Dean appreciated Sam's loyalty, his kindness, even though he didn't deserve it. "Me opening up, talking about how I miss Bobby, that I can't decide if I hate Cas or want to forgive him, especially since he saved you, that Frank's dead because of us, like so many other people are …" He shook his head. His eyes holding little else besides sorrow and his voice dripping in hopelessness, he proclaimed, "It's not going to make any of it better, Sam."

Being privy to Dean's stark emotions, hearing the break in his brother's voice, it nearly undid Sam, caused him to need a moment to reign in his own emotions, to ensure that he didn't break down as soon as he opened his mouth. When he felt moderately in control of himself, he solemnly agreed, "I know."

Because he did, no matter what psychobabble he sometimes repeated from his college classes, that he traded off using tough love and optimism to keep Dean putting one foot in front of the other, he knew that talk was cheap, most times didn't change a thing. However, he prayed that what he said next, would. "But you're not alone, man. I'm feeling the same things you are. And you were right, I'm not handling Bobby's death any better than you are." For that admission he got a doubtful look from Dean. "Hey, I'm the one who ran for the talking board before you did."

Dean snorted out a sound of satisfaction; at least Sam had the same vibes as he did. But his college educated little brother was too practical to just go with his gut feelings, had had to try and get proof. And when he couldn't find any evidence that Bobby was still around, that was it for Sam. No room for misgivings. Meanwhile, Dean had a gullet of doubt. But Sam didn't want to hear about it, thought he was off his rocker…even more than usual. And that hurt, that Sam couldn't go on faith, didn't trust him …his feeling.

"But you did it without me," Dean pointed out, more hurt than accusation in his statement.

Sam exhaled, didn't know how Dean would take it if he just came out and said it, that he didn't want Dean to get hurt. More hurt. Hadn't wanted to see Dean tailspin out of control when the last bit of hope died. Sure, he was the little brother but that didn't mean he wasn't fiercely protective of his big brother, wouldn't do anything to spare him pain. 'Including keeping him out of the loop, keeping things from him, doing the hard things…so he doesn't have to,' and then the revelation came to Sam. That was why Dean had handled Amy on his own. To spare him pain, to carry the guilt all on his own shoulders. 'So I wouldn't have to. Crap, why couldn't I see that from the start!'

When Sam reacted to his statement with a pitying exhale of breath, Dean felt shame covering him. Sam thought he was too weak to face the truth, thought that he only believed Bobby was still there in spirit because he wasn't strong enough to accept the fact that he had failed to save the second father he had been blessed with in his life. "Let's get you back to the room," he announced out of the blue, putting the car in drive and cranking up the radio, though the station was playing some lame whinny pop song about love some loser had dedicated probably to his mistress. He was surprised a few seconds later when Sam promptly reached out, turned off the music and yanked the steering wheel to the right.

Slamming on the brakes before the car veered off the road, Dean fumed, "Dude, you trying to help the woods finish us off!"

"I knew that, if I learned that Bobby wasn't there, I wouldn't be able to stand seeing that look in your eyes, alright?" Sam choked out, felt the last drop of oxygen in the car evaporate as his brother's face went rigid and his eyes held his. "Like you wanted to just …" the next words were a travesty of his usual controlled baritone, "…lay down and die."

Instead of denying the words, Dean turned away from him and that was so much worse than Dean's lame pseudo promise to not get killed after the Amazon daughter thing.

As irrational as it was, it was anger that erupted out of Sam, anger that Dean couldn't see that he needed him, would always need him. "Bobby's dead, Dean. Not you!"

"It should have been me," Dean railed back. "If I had my head in the game…if I hadn't been happily dosing myself with a drugged sandwich, I would have done the 2nd check around the perimeter of the building. I would have been Dick's guest, not him. If I would have given Bobby reason to trust me to do my job…"

It had never occurred to Sam that Dean would manage to twist things around, would believe that he was to blame for Bobby's death, that he should have taken the bullet, not Bobby. Quietly but earnestly, Sam stated, "He was worried about you, Dean. We both were."

"Screw his worry!" Dean shouted. Roughly putting the car in park, he climbed out of the car, paced on the highway, ran his hand over his mouth, hoped he wasn't about to come apart here and now. Hearing the other car door open, knowing Sam, exhausted and hurt as he was, was about to get out of the car, come over to placate him. "Sam, stay in the car! I'm …"

Leaning against the car, Sam volleyed at his brother across the car's roof, "Don't say it, Dean! Don't try and tell me how fine you are, that you're not hurting, that you're not lost!" But when his brother's red rimmed eyes fell upon him, Sam knew he was partially wrong, that he didn't know the depths of his brother's pain.

"He told me earlier that day that he'd be pissed if I died before him," Dean forced through his constricted throat, returned his brother's shaken expression with a watery smile. "He got his wish."

Suddenly Sam felt sick, understood the double edge love was for Dean, for them both. That if someone loved them…it seemed to always mean that person would, sooner or later, willingly sacrifice themselves to keep them safe. He had done it himself for Dean, had gone to the Pit, not so much for the world's benefit but more to save Dean. Just like Dean had gone to Hell to save him.

"What, no, pep talk? No, 'Then I should honor his wishes'?" Dean challenged, his hurt morphing into anger.

But Sam didn't shrink from Dean's anger, instead he gruffly rebutted, "He was wrong." Dean tilted his head in confusion and then Sam said with bitterness, "You did die before him. In New Harmony."

Even from the distance that separated them, Dean could read the remembered sorrow in his brother's all too expressive eyes. Dean felt a flash of shame for putting Sam through that.

"And Walt shot you in that motel and you let friggin' Doctor Roberts stop your heart and let's not forget the hundreds of times in Broward County, Florida that you died," Sam tallied, each memory worse than the one before.

"Sam, they don't…" Dean began to protest but Sam's sharp tone cut his words off.

"They count, Dean! They all count! Bobby wasn't just guessing how he'd feel if you died, he knew, Dean. Like I do. And that…" Sam shook his head, swallowed, felt like he was breaking down another wall inside himself, another safety measure to keep him from harm, from known the harsh truth that he could lose Dean again, that it could happen any day, any moment, and there might be no getting him back this time. And Dean couldn't do that, not to him, couldn't risk that on a whim, on a dare, because he wasn't careful.

"Sam…" Dean started, wanted to side track Sam before he went too far, dwelled on a past that couldn't be changed.

"It wasn't something either of us wanted to feel again," Sam almost harshly rejoined, didn't want Dean to fluff this off, what Bobby had been trying to say to him. "So don't think Bobby's "wish" was just some …some spur of the moment addendum to his pep talk. Any day, he would have told you the same thing. By some miracle, the day he got shot, he finally had his opening, thought you might listen to what he had to say."

"Well, he sure figured out a way to motivate me to get back in the game for spite," Dean sneered, because what got him up every morning was his soul-deep need to kill Dick Roman.

Looking away from Dean, Sam knew the burn in his eyes wasn't just from the setting sun. If anyone knew that vengeance led to nowhere good, he did. "So that's it, you just care about killing Dick, getting revenge, don't care that I almost died back there," he quietly stated, made his near death experience the focus because Dean was always more concerned with them than his own near misses.

Dean gave Sam's profile a shocked, incredulous glare. "Course not!" Because Bobby had listed other reasons for him to snap out of his funk, to put his full focus on the job, and one of them was for love.

Turning back to Dean, pinning his brother with his most needy look, Sam revealed, "That's the way I feel about Bobby being around. Sure, it would great if he was still here, in any form he could be, helping us…but he's not and you believing he is could get you killed."

"How would…" Dean began but Sam sliced over his protest.

"It's just us, Dean. We're the only ones we can count on. You can't depend on some…some desire that Bobby's still here and he'll save us, like he did so many times before. He's gone, Dean!" Watching the last of the color drain from Dean's face, Sam silently cursed, hadn't meant to inflict pain on his brother…just the opposite. "But I'm here," he resolutely stated. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere." That got Dean's head snapping up, his eyes meeting his, testing his words, the truth of them.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sam repeated, the words more hoarse the second time around. "But I need to know …." He swallowed, knew he couldn't bear the consequences if this blew up in his face. "…that you're gonna stay with me. That it doesn't take some possessive town to keep us together, for you to have faith that I won't leave you for good. Couldn't do that. Not and survive, not turn into something….you'd hate."

And Dean knew Sam still carried the scars his words had cut into him when he went darkside, when he chose Ruby over him, set the world on its countdown clock to destruction, of course with his help. "Something I'd hate like you becoming a lead singer for a Backstreet Boys band?" he teased, because Sam was never going to be something or someone he could ever hate. No matter what.

Appreciating his brother's humor, Sam returned Dean's show of forgiveness, of faith in him with a watery smile, huskily said, "Something like that."

But Dean could tell that Sam wasn't getting it, needed to hear the words to believe him. "Never gonna happen, Sam," he vowed, didn't clarify his statement but the look he bestowed on Sam said it all.

Though Sam hadn't known it, those were the words he had longed to hear from his brother… and never thought he would. What he had done in the past, it had soured his brother's devotion to him, he knew that. That he had badly burned the trust they shared and nearly destroyed the love that Dean had given him, fiercely and sometimes blindly, all of his life.

Fearing that Sam was about to either waste some of his waning strength to come give him a hug, or pledge some wholly unnecessary vow of loyalty to him, Dean crossed back to the car, bade as his eyes met Sam's over the car roof, "If you're done trying to crash the car, I say we get out of here." To which Sam gave a visible swallow before nodding his head. Then the Winchesters sank into the car and slammed the car doors in synch.

But as Dean started to send the car flying down the road, he sensed Sam's rapt focus on him. Sparing a glance to his brother, he felt warmth settled over him at the soft, almost heartbreaking smile his baby brother was leveling at him. Uncomfortable with such a sign of affection, he snarkily said, "Dude, you look like you're a puppy who's either gotta go to the bathroom or is about to lick my face."

Loving the jerk more for his sense of humor and his humility, Sam just laughed at his brother's taunting, wondered how Dean would react if he went ahead and gave him the hug he wanted to. 'He'd wreck us into the forest for sure,' Sam merrily thought, and settled for reaching over and giving Dean an affectionate pat on the chest. Then, leaning back against the seat, Sam closed his eyes. But his smile remained and he didn't need to look to his brother to know Dean was holding back a smile too.

Smugly, Sam realized that, whatever had tried to tear him and Dean apart permanently in the forest, it had failed, spectacularly. That, instead of separating them, it had been the catalyst that was needed to bring them closer together, to knock down some of the wall standing between them. Certainly not for the first time, he thought about how weird their lives were…but today, that was just fine with him.

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When the two brothers left the forest behind, the wind rushed among the trees like a specter, sending leaves fluttering to the ground. Leaves that were trod upon by the moccasin clad feet of an Indian who had seen two hundred and seventy seven springs.

Though the two men had not eyes to see him, Paytah, of the mighty tribe of Sioux, had stood there, walked among them since their first step into the forest. And he had come to understand them better, to recognize that they were not like any of the others. With them so close, he could feel their spirits, knew that a great, dark conflict had stirred between the two men of the same blood. And, for the first time since he had been sentenced to walk his solitary path, Paytah believed he had found a kindred soul to his own. That the one knew his pain, would be glad when his brother was made to pay for his betrayal.

But the white man had not rejoiced at his brother's punishment. Instead, he had spared his brother the rightful justice Paytah had decreed was his to bear. In disgust, Paytah understood that the elder was too weak to allow the spirits to do as he had bid them. And fury rose in him, at the man's feebleness, at the bond between the brothers that still remained, shone bright when he believed it would flicker out with a breath of wind. And Paytah did not name the strongest of his emotions, for jealousy, it was for women, for children, was not harbored by men who were warriors, who had fought in battle…and died.

Raising his hands to the sky, Paytah began to call for the spirits, demanded that they divide the souls of the two white brothers, to give them separate fates, to make them understand what he had come to know after much bloodshed and death: that all bonds of brotherhood could be broken.

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TBC

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Whew! Well that's what I got so far, hope you liked it!

Thanks to all my readers for being patient with me while I struggled to get back to writing this story. And love to all my awesomely kind reviewers!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	9. Chapter 9

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 9

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"Home, sweet, home," Dean announced, as he let Sam slip from his grasp so his brother could claim a seat on the bed closest to the motel room door. "Strip," Dean ordered as he turned around, kicked the door shut and crossed over to their bags.

"I think you have me confused with one of your one night stands," Sam shot back, too happy right then to not crack jokes.

"Ha ha, you're hilarious," Dean muttered, not looking up from his search in his bag, but there was an affectionate toleration in his tone. "And keep your skivvies on, I don't want to be scarred for life."

"You're the exhibitionist, not me," Sam defended as he shrugged Dean's shirt off his shoulders and set to work undoing his own shirt's buttons. But his fingers felt numb and clumsy and he was about to rip the shirt open when the first button finally slipped free of the hole. Moving down to the next button, he almost startled when another set of hands took over the task for him. Looking up, he fixated on his brother's face as Dean made quick work of the troublesome buttons before sliding the shirt off his shoulders. Then Dean grabbed the bottom of his undershirt. His eyes suddenly meeting Sam's, he asked," Think you can raise your arms or should I cut the shirt off?"

In answer, Sam lifted his hands to the sky, felt the whoosh of the shirt as Dean tugged it over his head and watched as his brother tossed it onto the floor. Noting Dean's wince, he almost demanded a confession of where Dean was hurt when his older brother spoke.

"Crap, no more water slides for you," Dean forbade, his eyes taking in the scrapes, cuts and bruises along Sam's torso before his fingers got into the action, began gently prodding the darker of the bruises along Sam's ribcage, testing for broken bones and internal bleeding.

"No arguments here," Sam almost wheezed as one of Dean's fingers hit an ultra-tender spot on his lower left side. He didn't track Dean as he stood up, began his inspection of his back of his head but he left out a huff of air that, in other men, would have been a cry of pain when Dean located yet another of his hot zones of injury.

"Sorry," Dean apologized, his jaw doing a jump. If there was one thing he hated worse than Leviathans, it was hurting his brother, even if his intentions were good. Coming around to crouch at Sam's side, he looked up into his brother's pain dulled eyes. "You got some scrapes and cuts, some deep. Think you can stand up to take a shower? If not, I can…"

"What? Give me a sponge bath?" Sam purposed with a cocky snort of disbelief.

"Nah, I was gonna offer the services of that old lady at the motel's check-in desk. She thinks you're hot, Sammy," Dean said, his eyebrows jumping in suggestive humor.

"Dude, you are so not right," Sam shot back with a chuckle. "No, I can take a shower on my own," and putting action to words, he began to rise from the bed. He wasn't surprised when Dean instantly grabbed onto his elbow and wrapped his arm around his waist. So it was together that they crossed the twelve steps to the bathroom door. It was there that Sam expected Dean to release him, let him make the rest of the journey on his own, but Dean didn't. Instead, Dean ushered him right into the bathroom, kicked down the toilet lid and eased him down to take a seat.

Sam could only sit there in amused fondness and watch as Dean turned on the shower and tested the water with his hand. 'Like a mother would for her child,' he classified, knew Dean would bristle if he caught him wearing his present smirk so he quickly set his mouth into a straight line of neutrality. But he couldn't help where his thoughts wondered, didn't know how the rest of the world made it without a brother like his in their lives. 'Guess they have less weird, complicated lives,' he mused but knew that, even when his life was that, back in Stanford, he still had a need for Dean. So maybe it was just them, how they had been raised, how Dean had raised him. The stark knowledge they carried that things could come out of nowhere and steal away someone you loved if you weren't vigilant. 'And even if you were…' his thoughts going to Bobby…and then to the whole tree falling in Dean's path and their recent sinkhole escapade.

No, it took more than vigilance to keep the ones he loved. It took stubbornness and tenacity and sacrifice and an angel of the Lord and a God that might not care about saving the world but didn't find it above His notice to spare his brother a time or two. And yet…Dean could have died that day. They both could have fallen in the cave and been shish-kabobed. Worse part was, it was all par for the course. 'How do I not have an ulcer?' he wryly questioned and suddenly, being stuck in the town, he and Dean together, it really didn't seem so bad. He would only have a few bars to check for Dean when he got moody and missing, they wouldn't have to change their name every five days, could stop running long enough to catch their breath. And who knew, they might not face death on a daily basis. Well, it wouldn't be so bad staying in the town as long as whatever had the town in its claws stopped trying to kill them.

"You could play golf, whenever you wanted to," he mused aloud, knew that for all of Dean's denials, his brother liked playing golf, missed it. Not to mention Lisa and Ben. And, for all he knew, Dean liked working construction, tooling around in a truck, not having to be someone's savior every week, including his little brother's. He had never had the guts to ask Dean for the truth about his foray into normal. And Soulless him? He hadn't cared enough to ask, had just wanted his own needs met and that meant his brother hunting at his side.

Turning from the shower spray, Dean frowned at his brother's nonsensical statement, inquired "What?" his tone a bit incredulous because golf? Seriously not in the realm of a topic of conversation that fit in their present circumstances.

Under his brother's inspection, Sam swallowed, shyly explained, "If we get stuck here, you could take up golf again. Teach me how."

"Sammy, we're not getting stuck here," Dean briskly declared before he walked out of the bathroom, leaving a stung little brother behind.

Figuring he was on his own after his stupid golf comment, Sam started to unbutton his jeans. But his head shot up when Dean re-entered the bathroom carrying a pair of his boxer shorts, which he tossed on the countertop.

Crouching down by Sam's feet, Dean began untying his little brother's shoelaces like he had done hundreds of times when they were growing up. Looking up to Sam, he said, "Please tell me you don't need helped into the shower."

But Sam easily saw through his brother's deception, saw the worry that clouded Dean's eyes, knew that Dean wouldn't hesitate to help him if he needed it, regardless of the mental scarring. "I can make it into the shower on my own," he replied firmly, didn't blink or show any wavering emotions in the statement, did not want to give Dean any reason to doubt him. And, apparently, Dean believed him because he gave a nod.

Finishing slipping off his brother's wet shoes and peeling off Sam's socks, Dean then stood up. But he didn't make a move to leave Sam's side. Sam's questioning eyes found his. "Myrtle Beach," he announced like it was an answer to a question Sam had asked.

Sam shook his head. "Ok, I know I'm a little concussioned but …."

"Town supposedly has great golf courses. We'll go there and I'll teach you all I know about golf…which really, isn't all that much," Dean deprecated with a sad smirk. Contrary to what Sam thought, he wasn't off having the time of his life being Tiger Woods when Sam was in Hell. Lisa had encouraged him to try golf and he had. Had found that he wasn't half bad, that slicing into the ball, hitting something, even if it was just a little white ball on almost too green grass, it took off a little bit of the edge of everything he was feeling.

A slow smile lit up Sam's pale, scraped features. Dean hadn't been brushing off his need to hang out together, was simply relocated it to, not within some supernatural mojo's restrictions, but someplace of their choosing. "It's a date," he agreed, anticipated Dean's reaction with sick glee.

Scrunching up his face in disgust, Dean shot back, "Dude, we were having a manly moment there! Now I feel dirty." And with that, Dean stomped out of the bathroom and shut the door in his wake…almost.

Sam smirked, at not only Dean's outrage but at the fact that his big bad brother couldn't stand to latch the door the whole way, would probably be hovering in the other room, making sure he didn't hear any thuds that meant his baby brother had passed out or fallen. "Real tough guy," Sam scoffed with a warm smile.

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Clean and clad only in his boxer shorts, Sam sat on the edge of the bed, tried to not wince at the sting of the antiseptic wash as it made contact with his torn skin. It didn't help that the liquid was cold, almost startled him each time Dean picked a new spot on his back to start his ministrations.

"Anything feel broken?" Dean quietly asked as he skirted around Sam. He hadn't detected anything on his inspection but wasn't going to feel better until Sam confirmed his findings.

"No." But when Dean gave him an unblinking stare, Sam repeated, with gentle conviction, "Really, Dean, nothing's broken."

Accepting that, Dean nodded. Remoistening the bandage with the antiseptic wash, he dabbed at the scrape under Sam's left eye, didn't miss Sam's wince at the sting. Moving to Sam's torso, Dean cleared his throat, wasn't too sure if what he was about to do would help Sam or hurt him but felt like it was time, that Sam needed to know he was just as vulnerable as he was. "I hate lightening for the same reason you hate fire."

At his brother's declaration, Sam's breath got trapped in his throat. Wide eyed, he studied his brother's face even as Dean's eyes never strayed from the wounds he was treating. Though they both had done Hell tours, Dean was never one to talk too much about it. And Dean opening up now, Sam was torn between praying Dean would say more and dreading it.

Daring to meet Sam's gaze, Dean easily read the need shining there, Sam's need to feel connected to him, Sam's hope that he wouldn't continue to shut him out. But he also saw Sam's compassion, his fear, his misplaced guilt. Finding it easier to not look at Sam, he began cleaning up the cuts on his brother's legs. The next words got stuck in his throat, like the first statement was a one hit wonder and the rest was going to be all effort. But Sam was always worth any effort. "At my welcome party to Hell, I was strung up on meat hooks, lightening all around me." He ruefully shook his head. "I lost track of how long I was there…alone." He exhaled a shaky breath. "It felt like longer than I could bear it."

Biting his lip and his eyes welling, Sam nodded, though Dean had yet to raise his head, to look at him. He knew that same feeling, all too well.

Sitting back on his hunches, Dean tilted his head up, knew he shouldn't be surprised that there was no condemnation in his brother's eyes, no disgusted I-had-it-so-much-worse-than-you spite. Instead there was horror and pain and apology. That was Sammy for him. And it gave him the strength to shuffle his hurt to the side, to be sentimentally glad to be where he was and who he was with, enough to offer up a mocking smile. "Not overly fond of dogs or holes in the ground either."

Sam's laugh was a bit manic as he agreed, "Yeah, ditto."

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With Sam's injuries all treated and his brother's lethargy bordering on zombieness, Dean tucked his protesting long limbed brother in bed. He flipped the covers over Sam's head in a final note of I'm-not-listening and you're-staying-down. Exhaling a breath of exhausted submission, Sam pushed the covers down and turned his head to watch his brother digging through his bag. "You're not going anywhere," he ordered, regardless that he was in no condition to enforce it. There was no way he was going to be even able to close his eyes a second until he got a promise from Dean that he wouldn't skip back to check out the cave.

"And leave these accommodations," Dean sarcastically drawled, arms going wide to indicate the shabby interior of their motel room.

Having had more than enough experience with Dean's brand of avoiding giving a straight answer, Sam found he wasn't quite down for the count, could sit up, would hash this out with Dean on his feet, between Dean and the door if he had to.

Seeing that Sam was doing his impression of 'the zombie lives!', Dean quickly relented, "Fine! I won't go anywhere."

Still propping himself up on his elbows, Sam held his position, needed to know how his next command would go over. "That means no leaving the room." Because Dean could find trouble hitting a soda machine…especially in their current town. And it was all manners of cruelty that he thought again of the Trickster AKA Gabriel's murder marathon of Dean in Florida. This was not like that, couldn't play out like that had. Or getting an ulcer wouldn't even be on the board, him going psycho? Much more likely.

"Sam, you're not six!" Dean shot back, exasperation the prominent expression he let show. "I don't have to keep the boogie man away while you sleep." No, there were far worse things he had to keep at bay.

But in his brother's rant, Sam saw some hope that Dean was about to relent. Lying back on the bed, he reached over to the nightstand, snagged the TV remote control and tossed it to Dean, who caught it as if he was born to catch stuff Sam threw to him. Ok, so maybe he wasn't born to it but he had trained himself to do it, to catch weapons and cursed objects and flasks of holy water, junk food too.

Pointing to the room's cushy but dingy chair, Sam commanded, "Park it" and then closed his eyes, like he believed Dean's submission was a foregone conclusion. But it wasn't. It was just hope and prayers and need and fear, all right there in the void, in the silence. His ears straining for any sound, he almost jumped when Dean grumbled a whining obscenity then the creak of footsteps on the room's floor was followed by the scrape of a chair being moved before the TV was brought to life. Sam fought back a smile as some actors pretending to be a family ranted about camping trip woes. And, when a few minutes later, he heard Dean's soft chuckle, he knew it was going to be alright. They were going to be alright. At least long enough for him to take a nap, recharge, escape from the pain and try and forget about fires, holes, dogs and now lightening.

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Dean wouldn't have admitted it to Sam, but his back hurt like a mother. He had practically felt the stitches pop when he held onto Sam for dear life over the abyss of the sinkhole. He vowed that he would patch himself up before Sam woke from his nap. Course that meant moving and that had been way too much effort. Instead he had remained molded into the chair for a good two hours, his eyes at half mast as he watched the TV. But his thoughts weren't so easy distracted.

A cave. A friggin' cave. Entirely too much like a hole in the ground for either his or Sam's peace of mind. But then again, life didn't seem to care about their triggers, instead loved throwing it in their faces every chance it got. Like what was on the TV show ….a man sporting a baseball cap and a beard and grousing at his co-worker. And Dean knew if the man said, "Idgit" he would lose it right there, didn't give him the chance. Quickly clicking off the TV, he came to his feet, crossed to his bag and dug to the bottom.

Sure, Sam had made him relinquish Bobby's flask, that didn't mean he was without provisions. Shooting a glance to the still dead-to-the-world Sam, he uncapped the whisky bottle and, not trusting Sam to not wake up if the liquid splashed into a glass, he took a swig straight from the bottle. And it helped, least he told himself it did, the burn, the taste, the idea that if he took a few more swallows, his skin would stop tingling, his muscles would stop clenching, his desire to punch a wall would fade to manageable proportions.

Absently, he rubbed his left hand on his thigh. So much for the tingling stopping. It reminded him of that time he and Sam did the whole beach thing and the sun's rays seemed to be sizzling his skin. Flexing his fingers, he turned over his hand. Suddenly he pulled the bottle away from his mouth and his face creased with confusion.

His palm was red and he could see round marks spotting his skin, like blisters forming.

Setting the whiskey bottle down, he brought his left hand up for closer inspection, trailed his pointer finger across his left palm. And hissed in pain. Since being a firebug was a prerequisite for his job, he wasn't a stranger to burns. Knew the look …and the feel of them. And his hand, a hand he had had nowhere near a flame, was showing all the signs of a burn. A burn that seemed to be getting worse, as if it were in contact with the flame right then.

Silently cursing, he made a beeline to the bathroom, shoved his hand under the sink and turned on the cold water. Relief from the pain was almost instantaneous. Slumping against the counter, he didn't dare remove his hand from the soothing spray. But even as the pain faded, his right forearm began mimicking the sensation in his hand. "Son of a …" he growled as he saw the red spread across his forearm…until it resembled something that used to be a raised red scar on his shoulder. The burn of a hand gripping him tight.

Shoving his forearm under the water, he gritted his teeth as the pain grew instead of decreased. He was contemplating pulling it from the water when the pain finally ebbed and he could actually feel the water cooling his overheated flesh. Slowly, he chanced pulling his arm out of the water, only winced slightly at the pain but felt his heart skip a beat at what he saw. It was a hand print. A hand that had coiled around his forearm. And his right hand, the burn wasn't just on his palm, curled around his hand…like fingers. Sam's fingers.

'It's where Sam grabbed hold of me when I pulled him out of the sinkhole,' the realization souring everything Dean had in his stomach. This, here, was felt like some kind of …of payback, reprimand for him saving Sam, saving his own brother.

A creak from the bed in the room got Dean's attention, made him fear that Sam would get up, stumble in there and see the burns. Quickly and quietly he closed the bathroom door. No way was he going to let Sam feel guilty for grabbing hold of him to get out of the hole. This spirit or curse could just go screw itself if it thought Dean would do that to Sam.

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At the soft click of the door being shut, Sam came fully awake, lifted his head from the pillow, gave the closed bathroom door a frown. It might be a case of Dean not wanting to wake him, shutting the door in case he made a sound. But Sam's super sensitive instincts when it came to Dean, said otherwise.

Yes, Dean was a million contradictions, sometime simultaneously. He would criticize him for saying he cared about him, but he himself could say whatever crap he wanted to. Like 'I couldn't live with you dead' or 'I don't like lying to you.' Could almost be OCD about his personal space one moment and the next would grab a seat against the Impala's fender beside him, so close that their shoulders touched. And yesterday, Dean had left the bathroom door ajar while he took a shower.

Now that same door was shut, all the way. And Sam didn't like it. Didn't care that it was normal, customary, expected. It didn't fit, not right then. Dean had left the door ajar when he showered, in case he needed him. Why would the rules suddenly change? It wasn't like he made it a habit to barge into the bathroom…well not without knocking first.

Crawling from the bed, he experienced only a second of lightheadedness then everything settled into focus. And the first step, it awakened his aches and pains but wasn't something that he couldn't ignore. He had been hurt far worse and still managed to come to his brother's side just fine. Halting in front of the bathroom door, his hand hovered over the door handle but he pulled it back. Nope, that was too over the top, would tell Dean how freaked out he was over nothing.

So he causally called out, "Guess I slept through lunch. Ya wanna get some dinner?" He practically stopped breathing as he waited for sound to come from inside the bathroom.

"Yeah, sounds good. Just let me grab a quick shower," Dean called through the door, silently concluded to himself, 'and put on a long sleeve shirt and wear one glove like Michael Jackson used to.' Because as underhanded as it was to hide this from Sam, showing him would be so much worse. No matter all that Sam had gone through, he was still way too kindhearted for his own good, would get that look in his eyes and start to apologize. And he had nothing to apologize for!

Dean sounded fine, like himself but Sam didn't move an inch away from the door. His eyes scanning the room, he saw the whiskey bottle on the table. Ok, he wasn't shocked that Dean had a bottle, that after the morning they had a drink wasn't deserved. And it proved Dean wasn't a closet drinker, wasn't in there sneaking swigs in the bathroom. No, Dean wasn't hiding that but he felt his brother was keeping something from him. "Let me in to use the bathroom before you take your shower," he requested, felt the beat of silence was way too long before Dean made his comeback.

"Nope, you missed your chance," Dean grumbled, like Sam was an annoyance. Turning on the shower, he stood there in the bathroom, strained to hear Sam curse at him or walk away. As if sensing his brother's next move, Dean quickly reached out and snapped the lock on the door a second before Sam tried to turn it. Dean stepped back even as Sam's raised baritone boomed right through the door.

"Dean! What's going on?" Sam shouted, trying the door handle again and getting the same results. "Open the door right now!" he commanded, fear coming off him in waves.

This so wasn't how Dean wanted this to play out. "Calm down, Sam."

"Calm down? You locked the friggin' door…on me!" Sam thundered back, didn't know how to take this new development. Was not sure if Dean was hiding something from him or thought he needed some protecting from him.

"I said I was taking a shower and you were gonna bust right in anyway," Dean tried for defiance.

"Right, 'cause you're so shy!" Then Sam spotted something on the bureau, Dean's open bag. Stepping over to it, he rumbled through its contents. "And you didn't take in a change of shirt or pants. "

"Dude, stay out of my bag!" Dean ordered, leaning his head against the door, wished Sam didn't know him and his limited wardrobe so well.

"Make me!" Sam growled from right outside the door. But when that didn't even get a rise out of Dean, Sam got really scared. "What aren't you telling me?"

Pierced by the anxiousness in Sam's voice, Dean stepped back from the door, sank down on the side of the tub.

Forcing himself to not rashly kick in the door, Sam exhaled, leaned his head against the door's molding. "If you're mad at me again, if that whole brotherly rage thing is starting over…we'll just talk through it. That's worked so far and I know we can …"

That made it so much worse, Sam being so understanding. "I'm not mad, Sam."

"Then what is it, Dean?" Sam implored, gently coaxed, "Unlock the door, let me in and we'll handle whatever is going on, like we always do."

'_Together,_' that part was understood. Standing up, Dean crossed over to the door and had his hand hovering over the lock. "Don't freak out, Sam."

But that admonishment only made Sam more fretful. "Yeah, you saying that always calms me right down."

Rolling his eyes at his brother's melodramatics, Dean turned the lock, was about to open the door but Sam beat him to the punch line, yanked the door open so they stood face to face. And Sam's face, it was a meter of his brother's feelings, went from freaked out, to relieved, to confused, to suspicious and then, yup, to alarmed when he saw the red burns. "Dean what the…" Sam began, reaching out to grab Dean's red, blistered hand.

Dean cried out at the expected agony that ravaged his skin. The skin where Sam's fingers came to rest. The agony, it was something he had felt before, when the Benders had seared that hot poker into his shoulder. And he hadn't meant to do it but it was instinctive: for him to jerk back, to try and escape what was causing him agony. Even when that turned out to be Sam.

At Dean's reaction to his touch, Sam stumbled backwards until his back collided with the small bathroom's wall, horror contorting his features. "Dean, I didn't mean…." And his eyes got huge and he swallowed noticeable as he watched Dean cradle his hand, saw the other burn on Dean's forearm. Suddenly he felt sick, choked out, "Did I…." when he realized the markings were in a recognizable shape. A hand print. His?

Ignoring the throbbing in his hand, Dean stepped forward, needed to show Sam he wasn't afraid of him. "Sam, this isn't your fault." But as he took another step closer, Sam slid along the wall and stumbled backwards out of the bathroom doorway, his hand raised as if to hold Dean back.

"Don't get any closer," Sam ordered, panic overriding his horror. But Dean didn't listen, still came toward him, his face full of apology instead of recrimination. Alarmed, Sam retreated until his back slammed into the nightstand between the beds. "Dean, stop!" he screamed.

Dean cursed, feared that Sam would leap over the bed or worse to make sure he didn't get any closer. So he stopped at the edge of the beds. "Is this you not freaking out?" he taunted but the rawness of the words belied how well he personally was taking things. Not well. Especially since Sam's face was morphed in guilt and his brother's eyes remained transfixed on the burns on his arms. "Sam," he gently beckoned, needed Sam to take a breath, calm down, put things into perspective.

At Dean's call, Sam raised his welling eyes to his brother's. "Dean, I did that…the burns. Just now …and before."

"You didn't do this, Sam," Dean firmly denied, needed Sam to believe that truth. "Whatever crap is going on in this town, it's doing this. Just another round of it trying to separate us."

But Sam pointed to the burns, exclaimed, "The burns are where I touched you Dean! Me, I did that to you, no one else."

"So you did some hoodoo, asked to be, what? A firebender? Went all Avatar Last Airbender on me?" Dean challenged.

"No!" Sam instantly denied.

Dean took a step closer, tried to not curse when Sam practically climbed onto the night stand to get further away from him. "Exactly. Nothing you did made this happen. It wasn't you who hurt me, Sam. But it would be great if we could find what did, and, I don't know, torch it."

Slowly Sam's stance changed from flight mode to indomitable. "Not what, who," Sam clarified, his hands fisting at his side, aching to revisit Dean's pain on the person responsible for it.

Sensing that Sam was shaping up a suspect, Dean asked, "Who?" not liking the look of vengeance in Sam's eyes.

"Larson," Sam hissed.

"The dead Larson brother or the living one?" And it was a testament to the insaneness of their jobs that that was a valid question.

"Brendal," Sam nearly growled, took a step forward as if to pass by Dean but brought himself up short and instead walked over the bed and grabbed his bag, began pulling out pants and a shirt.

Not following Sam's logic, Dean turned a half quarter to watch Sam. "Suddenly it's Brendal. Why?"

Pulling on his pants, Sam spat, "The burns. His brother went up in flames. His hands were burned."

"Well, we already know fire is a common thread. Fire leads to burns. So that doesn't point directly to Brendal..." Dean rationalized.

"He grabbed ahold of you in the prison, Dean!" Sam's eyes blazing as they held his and Sam's stance told Dean that his brother was on the verge of going off half-cocked.

"So he got a little needy," Dean deprecated, seeking to defuse the bomb that was Sam.

"He wouldn't let go of your hands until I made him!" Sam exploded, roughly pulling on his shirt, angry that his muscles hurt, slowed down his action.

"Sam.." Dean stated to placate, took a step toward Sam.

"Stay back, Dean," Sam ordered, looking all the world like a trapped animal, eying up his ways of escape.

"Fine," Dean agreed with a huff, held his ground. "So we'll go talk to Brendal, see if he's got the midas firebranding touch."

But Sam shook his head. "I'm going alone."

"No, no you're not," Dean fiercely objected, approached Sam, who quickly put the kitchen table between them.

"Dean, if I touch you, even by accident, I hurt you," Sam pointed out, the catch in his tone conveying just how much that fact was tearing him up inside. "Just…stay here, let me follow up on this lead."

"So we just don't do the physical contact thing. I like it better when you respect my personal space anyway," Dean joked but saw it wasn't lightening the anguish in Sam's eyes.

"Stay in the room. I'll be back," Sam instructed and promised as he snagged the car keys off the kitchen table and stalked for the door.

Knowing that the formidable set to Sam's jaw and the way his brother stalked for the door were sure signs that Sam wasn't going to change his mind, Dean called to Sam's back. "Sam, just…don't go all Incredible Hulk on him, alright. I'm fine."

But the look Sam shot him over his shoulder was one of disbelief at his statement of being fine and then there was the murderous fury burning behind his irises. Which, in no way, reassured Dean that Sam wouldn't rip Brendal's arm off and start beating him with it. Before he could exact a promise from Sam to not resort to Wookie tactics, his brother was gone, had shut the door firmly in his wake.

No longer having to put a brave front on for an audience of one, Dean ran for the bathroom, quickly submerged his arm into the cold water of the still running shower. Leaning against the edge of the shower, getting soaked from head to waist, he wished that Sam wasn't out there on his own. That someone could play good cop to Sam's inevitable bad cop. But they were short on fellow hunters. Way short.

'_But not allies_,' he suddenly realized, even as he stepped back from the shower, toweled off his still hurting arm and pulled his phone from his pocket. The person he called answered on the second ring.

"Hey, Nathan, remember how your chief ordered you to help us…"

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TBC

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Thanks for those reviews I so fawn over! And thanks to anyone who is reading this story.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	10. Chapter 10

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: I'm finally back with an update! And in the hopes of keeping this story rolling along, I broke down the long chapter I ended up writing into a few short chapters. That way the next few updates won't be so long in coming.

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Chapter 10

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As much as Sam told himself Dean was fine, that nothing was going to happen to his brother before he reached Brendal, the panic in his chest wouldn't dissipate. Swerving around a tractor trailer truck like it was standing still and pushing the rental car to greater acceleration, he reached for his cell phone and his finger hesitated over Dean's name. He ached to hear Dean's voice, wanted to be assured that Dean wasn't on the floor writhing in agony. '_This isn't about what you need_!' he ruthlessly thought before he determinedly quelled his own selfish needs and let his fingers dance over the phone's keypad. Even as the phone rang, he wasn't exactly sure what he would say to the person on the other end of the line.

"Yeah?" a male voice answered.

"Wade, this is Sam. Ah Dean's brother…." Sam lamely identified himself, felt a little like he was ten again talking to one of Dean's high school buddies, about to ask if they knew where his brother was.

"Sam, wondered if I'd hear from you two today. Get any concrete theories on why this town's got brothers hating on each other?" Wade asked, not privy to the reaction it generated in Sam. Couldn't know that it had Sam clamping his eyes shut, hoping for a reprieve of his mind's fascination with reshowing him the horrific burns on his brother's flesh and fighting a shudder as Dean's cry of pain echoed in his head.

'_Keep it together! Dean knows you don't hate him_!' Sam coached himself, knew that Wade was waiting for a reply, that he had to tell the other man why he had called. "No, no likely theories yet." Then he struggled a moment to swallow the lump in his throat, wanted the next words to come out casually. "Hey, can you go check on Dean?" he requested like it would be just as ok with him if the other man said no, that he wasn't poised to resort to begging.

"He pull out the stitches?" Wade guessed with exasperation. "I knew that fight…."

But Sam cut off Wade's speculation and cowardly didn't voice his own guilty hand in his brother's new wounds. "He's at the Cooper Flat's motor lodge, room 7. Thanks Wade." And then he ended the call, didn't give the medic time to cross examine him, to learn that Dean's wounds were fresh and were all his fault.

Then Sam dejectedly tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, knew that he should be pleased that Wade would be with Dean soon, but he just couldn't find it in himself to be that gracious. It was his place to patch Dean up, not anyone else's. '_But lately I'm so much better at being the one to rip him apart_.' Letting out a hissed curse, his eyes swam with unshed tears.

Sam could endure a lot, had. But Dean recoiling from him, being hurtby him, crying out in pain, being _burned_ by his _touch?!_ It was almost more than he could bear. It set off all his protective instincts, was like every nightmare he had had since Hell starting to come to life, with him cast in the role of his brother's torturer.

And to top it all off, Dean, the selfless jerk, had stepped _toward_ him, had risked him hurting him worse?!

It was like a retake on the scene that had played out with Dean's "daughter". Sam knew in his gut that his brother wasn't going to shoot the teenager, was going to allow her to get closer to him, to _kill him_, if the choice came down to Dean's life or hers. That was so typical of Dean. His big brother would always choose the survival of someone he cared about over his own life, had proven that in so many horrific, painful ways. And when it came to his little brother?! Dean would go to even greater, scarier lengths to save Sam, to ease his little brother's hurt, to wash away his guilt.

Today was just another shining example of that reckless loyalty. Dean would have let him touch him again. All to prove that he still trusted his little brother.

Sam bit his lip, fought to not let his emotions overrun their banks. To not let the bile in his stomach percolate to the surface over the fact that he had been, yet again, the instrument of torture used against his own brother. Suddenly Dean's words in the ER as Bobby lay dying echoed in his head: "We've been through enough!"

And Sam knew it wasn't just about losing people, it was about them losing each other, about losing faith and trust and hope. That Dean, he was nearly at his end, would shatter under the weight of more heartbreak. Had already been through so much with Cas, Bobby, his "daughter"_, _believing, hoping Bobby was still around_._

Then this case had popped up on their radar. Had them hurling cruel accusations at each other about so much buried crap. It hardly mattered that it wasn't of their own volition. The words had been said and they couldn't be called back and, in some cases, even denied. And now this new development, Sam's touch burning Dean?!

It made Sam's fury spike to white hot outrage. Suddenly he felt like he was burning him up from the inside out, like he was the one about to do an instantaneous combustion act. Because no one was allowed to break through his brother's staggering tolerance for agony and make Dean cry out in pain. Not and live to gloat about it. **No one**. And yet, it had been him. Him. His touch.

'_But someone else set things into motion._' And he vehemently vowed that that person would not get the chance to inflict more pain on Dean.

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A sound had Dean turning off the shower, toweling off his hands and arms and stepping out of the bathroom. Yup, there it was again. A rap on the door.

He dropped his head in frustrated dejection. It was probably Chief Fox. Nathan had probably told the Chief that he had called him and why and now Fox was there to personally escort him out of town. Chances were, Nathan was at the prison, intent on providing Sam with the same taxi service.

Opening the door with a "Sir, I can…." Dean broke off his defense when it wasn't Chief Fox standing on his doorstep.

Wade smiled widely. "Sir? I like it, shows you're finally willing to give me the respect I deserve." Without an invitation, Wade slipped by him into the room, his medic bag swinging on his shoulder,.

Turning around to track the movements of his visitor, Dean surmised, "Sam called you."

Plopping the medic bag on the table, Wade shot Dean a cocky smile. "No, I just thought it was three o'clock and that was more than enough time for you to have your daily medical emergency."

"I don't have daily medical emergencies!" Dean indignantly protested, shutting the door with his good hand with some force.

But Wade was ticking items off his fingers. "Car accident on Tuesday. Fist fight on Wednesday. Thursday must be …" and giving Dean a cursory exam, his eyes widened in surprised alarm as they zeroed in on the red, blistered skin of Dean's hand and arms. "…burns," he worriedly deduced, taking a purposefully step toward his patient.

Self-consciously dropping his arms to his sides, Dean took a step back and countered with annoyance, "The fight wasn't a _medical emergency_ and this is just a bad sunburn."

"Sure. If we were on the Planet _Mercury. _Now take a load off_," _Wade ordered, pointing to a chair at the table before he dropped his focus to his medic bag, began pulling out items he knew he would need. When he didn't sense movement in the room, he gave a longsuffering exhale and looked up to see Dean still standing defiantly by the door. Realizing that his nice, 'I'm your friendly medic here to save your ungrateful butt' scenario still wasn't going to work on Dean, Wade leaned against the table, folded his arms across his chest to stop himself from just reaching out and shoving his patient into the chair and looked to Dean.

"Alright, you wanna tell me how you got those burns," he asked, tried for nonchalance even as he itched to tend to the wounds that he knew were putting the other man in pure agony.

"Not really," Dean mumbled, fighting to remain still, to not let the pain reflect on his face.

At Dean's blunt refusal, a grim, unwelcome realization settled over Wade. Wide eyed, he breathed out, "Sam." And he didn't believe Dean's ardent, "No!" because he could see something clearly then in the other man's eyes: heartbreak.

Silently cursing Sam and whatever crap was at work making brothers act out against each other, Wade stood up. He approached Dean cautiously, tried to think of what to say, afraid that Dean would bolt for the door or simply throw him out if he moved too fast or said the wrong thing.

"Ok, just let me put some ointment on the burns, wrap them," Wade gently bade, hands reaching out, intending to grab Dean by the biceps, steer him, not to the chair, but to the bed. But Dean backed away from him and he watched the other man's head tilt up in defiance and his eyes darken with resolve to be stoic, even in light of his own brother hurting him, badly.

"I'm fine, can wrap them myself," Dean growled, didn't need or appreciate the look of pity in Wade's eyes. He wasn't weak or a friggin' charity case!

Though Dean wasn't allowing him to touch him, Wade had gained enough proximity to get a good, professional look at the burns. Instantly, his gut dropped to his boots, not only at the thought that he had treated burns of similar severity on Brendal Larson's hands but the awareness that the burns weren't arranged in splotches but specific pattern…of fingers coiling around Dean's wrist.

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The prison guard barely had the door in the interrogation room shut before Sam yanked Brendal Larson out of his chair and threw him against the wall. Clamping his hand around Brendal's throat, Sam leaned in close. "Break the curse, or so help me God, I'll kill you, right here!" he savagely growled, his hand already constricting the man's windpipe.

"Curse?" Larson gasped, his burned, bandaged hands desperately trying to break the FBI agent's murderous choke hold. "I don't…"

"Don't lie to me!" Sam thundered, yanked the man from the wall only to slam him brutally back against it. "Undo whatever you did to my brother!"

Terrified that the agent was going to fulfill his promise and kill him, Brendal wheezed, "Brother? I never…"

Leaning even closer to Larson, Sam hissed into the other man's face. "You grabbed onto him when we interviewed you." Then something came together in his head, made his blood boil hotter, and he felt a thousand times the fool for not figuring it out sooner. "That's when all this crap between Dean and I started. After you touched him! That's how it starts, isn't it. By touch…yours. Now mine."

"I don't know what you want me to tell you!" Brendal nearly pleaded. "I don't know what you think I did to your brother. I don't!" he helplessly admitted, desperate to say the right thing, to give the right answer, knew it meant the difference between life and death, his.

"You burned him," Sam accused, his tone sharp enough to cut through the air in the confined space like a machete.

Horror spiked through Brendal at the possibility that he had hurt someone else. That, no matter how inexplicably, his touch might have started the fire that consumed Josh, was now responsible for hurting someone else. "I didn't mean…"

In Sam's current state of mind, Brendal's words sounded like a full confession to him.

Tightening his fingers around the man's fragile windpipe, Sam knew it wouldn't take much greater pressure to snap the bones. "Undo it. Now!" Even as Sam gave the order, a horrifying suspicion that Brendal planned to treat Dean to the same fate he had his own brother grew, caused a merciless image from his nightmares to surface: Dean engulfed in flames. Screaming. Screaming out his name. Begging him to save him.

'_For all I know, that's exactly what's happening to Dean right now_.' And that possibility, it turned him to stone because, in his heart, he knew it would be his fault. Because he still wanted to be the good guy, didn't want to take human lives, had chosen to not kill Brendal the second the fratricide had entered the interrogation room.

Set to rectify that disastrous oversight, Sam's teeth gnashed together and his left hand joined his right around Brendal's throat. As long as he stopped Brendal's attack on Dean, he didn't care if he spent the rest of his life in prison as a murderer.

But apparently, someone else did, because at that moment, the door opened and Nathan stood there, stunned. Then he lunged at Sam.

"Sam, let him go!" Nathan shouted as he tried to wrestle Sam's hands off of Brendal's throat with little success. Then other hands joined Nathan's and with the help of, not one, but two prison guards, they managed to pull Sam away from Brendal.

Struggling to be free of Nathan's hold, to finish the job, Sam hurled accusations at Brendal. "You stabbed your brother because he was going to leave you and then you burned him when you saw the hatred in his eyes!"

Choking and nearly gagging at the pain of the near strangulation, Brendal fell back against the wall, slid to the floor. Didn't raise his head as Sam was manhandled toward the door by a guard and Nathan, but he forced a raspy denial from his ravaged throat, "He was going to forgive me. I saw it in his eyes." And he found the strength to raise his welling eyes to the FBI agent's hate filled gaze. "Josh was going to forgive me…and then the fire came."

If the man said more, Sam didn't hear it because at that moment he was hustled out the door and promptly shoved, face first, against the wall in the hallway. He felt the cold metal of handcuffs cinch around his wrists a few heartbeats later. Suddenly his throat went dry. How was he going to protect Dean if he was in prison!? And that quandary was followed up by a litany of silent, but no less venomous curses at himself.

No matter the truckload of horrific crap he and Dean had managed to survive, he always lost his head when Dean was in jeopardy. Today, apparently, was no exception. But this time, like a few disastrous times in the past, his actions might not keep them together but end up being the catalyst that would tear them apart.

'_Sorry, Dean. I screwed_ _up_!' he thought as he was prodded down the hallway with his hands cuffed and a guard at his back, like he was already one of the prison's mandatory "guests."

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Looking up from the handprints burned into Dean's skin, Wade stammered, "How…they are…Sam did this to you?" fury finding him at last. He had supported the brothers staying together, had thought it all manners of wrong to separate them but now Sam had done this to Dean?! Suddenly he was glad that Sam wasn't there, didn't think he could hold back on punching the other man.

Recognizing Wade's fury, putting together, no matter how surprising, that it was in deference to him being hurt, was being directed at Sam, Dean hoarsely defended his brother, "He didn't mean to." Knew Wade wouldn't question that if he had been there, had seen the horror, the guilt, the pain in Sam's eyes.

"Like Brendal didn't mean to stab Josh?! To kill his own brother!" Wade shot back, his grief and anger over Josh's death rising to the surface. "Brendal was pissed at Josh and now Josh is dead! And Sam, he was mad at you in the bar, was judging you for something you did and now…" he shook his head, turned his back on Dean and paced away. Needed to try and distance himself, to not make this personal. His face was set in harsh lines when he turned again to Dean. "Those are his hand prints, aren't they? Somehow, Sam hurt you, burned you with his touch. Like Brendal did to Josh."

"Not on purpose!" Dean shouted back, wouldn't stand there and let Wade think the worst of Sam. The next second he was crying out in pain as the burns seemed to reignite in intensity. Bending over, he cradled his arms against his stomach.

His anger quickly giving way to concerned fear, Wade closed in the space that separate him and Dean and slid his arm around the injured man's back. "Let's get you to the bed," he said, tugging Dean forward, heard the hiss of pained breath when Dean absently moved his arms and his raw skin came into contact with Wade's jacket. Helping Dean sit up against the headrest of the bed, Wade scrambled back to the table, snatched up his supplies and returned to his patient's side.

Claiming a seat on the bed by Dean's waist, Wade slid on gloves and uncapped a burn ointment tube. With a look, he asked Dean for permission to treat him, sensed the other's man concession before Dean gave a small nod of his head. Hoping to not inflict more pain on Dean, Wade gently reached out and picked up Dean's burned hand. "Son of a…" he abruptly exclaimed as he dropped Dean's hand and yanked his own hand back from the heat pouring off of the man's skin that felt capable of burning right through his gloves.

His stunned, bewildered eyes flying up to Dean's, Wade stammered, "Your skin..it's hot to the touch."

Tucking his hand against him to shield Wade from even inadvertently touching it, Dean grimaced in pain before boasting with a weak smile, "I always said I was hot. Guess now it's undeniably true."

But Wade's mind was going a hundred miles a minute. "They have a burn unit in the next county over. I'll have an ambulance take you there," he devised, pulling his phone from his pocket, desperate to ease Dean's pain, to make sure the man didn't lose his arms and hand to the injury.

With his good hand, Dean reached out, wrapped his hand around Wade's and stopped the man's frantic dial-a-thon. "This isn't your run of the mill burn," he pointed out, saw Wade's protest and shot it down with a smirking reminder of "I can't leave town, remember. Not unless it's in a body bag."

Frustration tightened Wade's handsome features. "How am I supposed to treat your burns when I can't even touch you?!"

Replaying Wade's statement in his head, Dean tilted his head, slowly said, "I think that's the point."

"What is?"

Grimly, Dean stated, "That you can't help me. That I'm not supposed to be helped. Like I wasn't supposed to help Sam."

"Help Sam?" Wade repeated in confusion before he plunged forward, "So what, you're being punished?"

And it made sickening sense. His initial burns were where Sam had grabbed onto him to get out of the cave. Then Sam had wanted to help him and had ended up hurting him instead. And now his burns were too hot for Wade to treat. Someone was royally pissed at him, wanted him in pain, to stay in pain. Instead of answering Wade's question, Dean scanned the room, found what he was looking for and ordered, "See that bag," he said with a point. "There's a book on the bottom. Go grab it for me."

Accepting that he was totally out of his element, Wade obediently did Dean's wishes. Crossing the room, he unearthed a book from the bag on the bureau and handed it to Dean.

One handedly, Dean began paging through the book but it was slow going.

Unable to watch the man struggle further with the simple task, Wade reached out and held the book open on Dean's lap, chose to ignore Dean's eyeroll of disgust at his unsolicited assistance.

Torqued that Wade was treating him like some child not coordinated enough to manage his own bedtime storybook reading, Dean contemplated leaving the other man in the dark, not sharing his next move. Trouble was, he kind of suspected he was going to need Wade's help. "It's more of a curse, than a physical wound. So we need a hoodoo spell to break it."

"Hoodoo? You mean Voodoo, like dolls and chanting and…bone necklaces?" Wade skeptically asked, wasn't sure he wanted to go that route, even for a guy he was starting to label a friend.

It was insane enough of a statement to get Dean distracted. He gave Wade a narrow eyed 'are you serious' look. "No. Hoodoo. Different philosophy. And where did you get your info on voodoo, reruns of eighties TV shows?!"

"Maybe," Wade grumbled at the reproof. But seriously, it wasn't like he had ever dabbled in the dark arts before. Besides, Oliver would have kicked his butt if he had tried. His lips thinned out at the thought of his brother, of what Oliver would think of him right now: Starting to believe in curses and contemplating helping some guy he barely knew perform some "spell." Bitterly, he taunted his dead brother, '_If you cared what I did with my life you shoulda stuck around Oliver.' _Unflinchingly meeting Dean's eyes, he declared, "Fine, I'm in. What do you need me to do?"

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the wonderful comments on last chapter! You guys make this story so fun to share! Hope you liked this chapter, even though it was shorter than some of the other chapters. Like I mentioned, I have the next update ready to go so I will probably post it later this week. (Hint Hint: I could be enticed to post it sooner than that.)

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	11. Chapter 11

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Thanks must go out to my wonderful, generous and patient beta, Bonnie, for not smacking me when I decided to revamp this chapter after she already proofed it! And since my Chapter 10 reviewers were awesome enough to request more story as quick as I could get it to them, here's the next part before the weekend!

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Chapter 11

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Though Nathan had sweet talked the prison warden into not pressing assault charges against Sam, the police deputy was far from Sam's champion. Proved it the moment they were through the prison gates and heading for their respective vehicles by shoving Sam against the side of his truck and growling, "You're gonna tell me exactly what that was about!"

Sam's eyes skittered away from Nathan's as he vaguely replied, "Following up on a lead."

But Nathan took a menacing step closer, his voice a lethal hiss, "We've let you and your brother get away with a bunch of crap in the hopes you'll make sense of all this. But I'm close to just locking you up, telling the chief you're more hindrance than help…" But then the deputy's anger waned as he took notice, for the first time, of the cuts, scrapes and bruises on the other man's face, remembered the way Sam had stiffly moved, was nearly limping. It seemed Brendal wasn't the only one having a bad day. "…unless you keep me in the loop, tell me why Brendal Larson has bruises around his throat from your hands."

Sam blanched at Nathan's unintentional comparison to the burns Dean was right then sporting. His eyes dropped to his fisted hands. It seemed he was cursed all over again.

Reading the anguish flickering across the other man's features, Nathan took a step back, gave Sam some room to compose himself. But still wasn't prepared to see the haunted look in Sam's bloodshot eyes when the younger man raised his head.

"I hurt Dean," Sam huskily confessed. He could no longer lie to himself, put blame on Brendal that was his to bear.

At that revelation, Nathan rubbed a hand over his mouth, upset more than he expected to be at the new turn of events. And he knew that he should press Sam, get as much information as he could while the man's walls were down but he just couldn't. He was still pained over the unforeseen collapse of the Larson brotherhood, he certainly wasn't keen to witness another such union suffer a similar fate. Instead, he waited until Sam filled the silence a few moments later.

"He has burns…" Sam began, dropping his eyes to his arm, let his own hand hover above his wrist, could vividly picture his brother's red and blistered skin on that section of his body. "…from where I touched him." He exhaled, looked up at the deputy, needed to make Nathan see why Brendal had been his prime suspect. "When Dean and I visited Brendal, he grabbed Dean's hands about there and he wouldn't let him go. So I thought Brendal had something to do with the burns now showing up on Dean where ever I touch him. I mean, Brendal was right there when his brother …"

"…started on fire…." Nathan finished, couldn't believe he was facilitating the conman's whackado logic.

Sam nodded, was relieved that the police officer wasn't shuffling him into his car and driving him to a psycho ward.

Turning Sam's theory over in his head, Nathan gave Sam a curious almost censorious look. "And what, you thought the best way to figure out if Brendal was the bad guy was to attack him?! Try and prove his guilt by seeing if he used his creepy firestarter abilities on you?!"

Sam had the good grace to blush. "I was taking a page out of my brother's book."

"Yeah, I can see that about Dean," Nathan conceded, not bothering to hide his smirk.

Coming to lean against his truck beside Sam in a pose of allies instead of police office and suspect, Nathan stated, his eyes straight ahead and not on his companion, "You know, if Brendal had the ability to start anyone on fire, he would have lit you up like a bonfire the second you started choking the life out of him."

Running a hand down his face and leaning a little more heavily against the truck, Sam released a defeated sigh. "Yeah, I'm starting to figure that out." That left him back at square one on suspects.

Hearing Sam's crushed tone, Nathan eyed the taller man. "You know Dean called me, told me to back your play with Brendal."

Sam couldn't fight a small smile. Of course Dean would worry more about him than himself. "Yeah, figured your timing wasn't coincidental."

But Nathan read the worry under Sam's glibness. "He didn't sound like he was at death's door or even pissed at you."

Sam's eyes shot to the deputy's, raked over the man's features as if trying to judge the truth of his statement. But Sam didn't comment on Nathan's observation, couldn't. Not and keep his crap together.

Nathan identified that the topic was off limits by the storm in Sam's eyes. He respected that. He also figured that, if he asked if Dean was the one who redecorated Sam's face, it would be akin to signing up for a firing squad. And he was many things but suicidal was never one of them. So instead he suggested, "I could call Wade, see if he'd make a house call?"

Rapidly, the anguish fled from Sam's features, was replaced by embarrassment that made the deputy realize just how much younger the other man was. "I already called Wade. He should be with Dean already," Sam shyly owned up to his mother-henning of his big brother.

Nathan smiled back in return. "Guess we should get back there before they kill each other." He hadn't expected his joke to instantly wipe every trace of mirth from Sam's face. Before he could ask Sam what was wrong, the younger man's phone came to life.

Frantically pulling his phone from his pocket, Sam answered the call with a breathless question, "Dean, you alright?" even as he realized that he didn't know what he would do or could do if Dean was worse.

"You mean besides being pissed you sicked Male Nurse Betty on me?" Dean groused, hoping to replace the guilt he heard in Sam's voice with good old fashion annoyance. His comment earned him a not-so-nice glare from Wade. His methods, however, weren't so great at swaying Sam's dogged self-reproach.

"So, Wade's there. Can he treat the burns or do you have to go the hospital?" Sam anxiously asked, felt a new rush of guilt at the possibility that the wounds might be too serious for the medic to treat on his own.

"No, I don't have to go to the hospital," Dean huffily shot back. And then, because there was no way he was letting on how much friggin' pain he was in and upping Sam's guilt, he scoffed, "Geez, Sam, I got burned worse that day we went to Wildwood!" He gave a conspiring wink to Wade but the medic's features were suddenly bone white and there was a tick in his jaw. Ignoring his companion's silent judgment at his fib to Sam, Dean teasingly asked, "Is the elder Larson still among the living?"

Shame stabbed at Sam and he wondered if Dean had any idea how close he had come to taking Brendal's life. And the truth was, it wasn't that he was squeamish about taking a life to save Dean's, would do it without one ounce of guilt, had done it in the past. No, what threw him was, that in his blind panic, he had nearly taken a seemingly _innocent_ man's life. "Yeah, he's alive," he affirmed but there was enough timidity in his reply to have his brother press, "Sam?"

"I didn't kill him…but it was a near thing," Sam candidly admitted, wouldn't let his pride stand between him and Dean, not like it once had.

At Sam's confession, Dean casually surmised, "Brendal's not our guy, is he?" knowing that if he was, Sam would have, most likely, followed through on his intentions. Intentions Dean couldn't judge Sam for, not when he had broken a lot of heads and taken a few lives in his many quests to protect and save Sam.

"No, don't think so," Sam exhaled, wishing he had good news. "So you're…you're Ok? Where I burned you…"

"You didn't burn me, Sam," Dean instantly corrected. "It's a friggin' curse. Hoodoo."

Abruptly realizing that Dean was avoiding answering his question, Sam stood up straighter. "Dean, how bad are the burns? Just tell me," he tightly demanded, didn't want Dean protecting him while he suffered in silence.

At Sam's interrogation, Dean shot a measuring look at Wade, who tilted his head in wary confusion. Honestly, Dean didn't know if Wade was up to helping him with the spell. But, as usual, his need to shield Sam won out. "Wade's gonna patch me up, good as new," he confidently told Sam.

It was too much for Wade, hearing Dean lie to his brother. Yes, he got it, that Dean wasn't being a macho jerk, was instead being the big brother he thought Sam needed, deserved. Dean believed admitting to Sam that he was in pain, showing Sam that he wasn't invincible, it would be breaking some brotherly code, would be him letting Sam down, was a failure, on the greatest of scales, for a big brother.

But Wade knew how wrong Dean was to shelter his brother by lying to him.

Ruthlessly snatching the phone from Dean's hand, Wade heard Sam's so hopeful but still slightly doubtful question to his brother. "So the burns aren't bad?" And the words could have been Wade's to his own brother. The tone surely was like his had been: scared but all adoring, all trusting…. unforgivably naïve.

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"_You sure you're OK, Oliver? You were knocked out a few minutes. You should go to the hospital, get checked out."_

_But his brother gave him that cocksure smile, reached out and ruffled his hair and boasted, "I've got the hardest head in the west. I'm fine. Will still whip you the next time we climb this beauty," and Oliver's eyes drifted to the mountain even as his arm came to rest against Wade's shoulders, drew his little brother against him. _

_And it felt like anything was possible for them, if they did things together. _

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'_But together hadn't lasted. Had been taken away from me three hours later. Forever,' _Wade painfully recalled, sharply inhaling as the memories, the grief nearly dragged him under. And it was incentive enough for him to give Sam the answer the other man didn't want to hear, might not be up to facing. But Sam had to accept the truth if he valued his brother's life more than the hoax of his big brother's invincibility. "Sam, its Wade. I can't treat the burns."

Stepping back as Dean made a grab to reclaim his cellphone, Wade could hear Sam's startled inhale of breath before the man's scared voice asked, "Can you get Dean to the hospital? I'll meet you…"  
"Dean said a hospital won't help," Wade cut in, believed that part wasn't just Dean's bravado talking.

That Dean was still being his stubborn self, it grounded Sam, made it possible for him to jokingly scoff, "Like he ever agrees to go to the hospital."

But when Wade met Dean's eyes, he didn't see swagger. Instead, he saw in the green depths something that cut him to the bone: defeat and acceptance and maybe even a spark of gratitude. "It's not like regular burns, Sam. It's…." he swallowed, knew that his next statement might incite panic but it needed to be said. "The burns are hot to the touch. I mean, really hot."

"What?" Sam croaked back, suddenly feeling lightheaded, like the prison parking lot was spinning around him. Was Dean burning up inside like he had burned on the outside in the Cage? Would it be long before the flames erupted and Dean's skin burned away and his bones turned to ash?!

Nathan, not liking the sound of fear in Sam's voice, stepped closer to Sam, latched onto Sam's arms when the other man stumbled in an effort to try and keep his balance. But his concern for Sam's physical reaction fled when he saw the full blown fright reflected in Sam's eyes, realized that it was a barrage of emotional distress that seemed very capable of tearing Sam apart.

He was about to usher Sam into the passenger seat of his truck when he heard the voice coming from Sam's cellphone, recognized that it was Wade talking, not Dean.

"Dean thinks the burn isn't physical, that it's …" Wade paused, wasn't sure of the lingo he should use. Sending an appealing look to Dean to meet him halfway, to accept that Sam needed to hear the truth, he watched the hunter's head sink back to the headboard with defeat.

Dean mouthed, 'hoodoo' to Wade. No use trying to put the cat back in the bag now, especially since Sam knew he was still in pain.

"…a hoodoo curse," Wade continued. "He thinks he needs a spell to break it and he found one he thinks will work in this book he has," hated that there were so many verbs of doubt in his words. Pulling the book on Dean's lap around so he could read it, he imparted, "He said he has all the ingredients but one." Then he meaningfully looked to Dean, needed the hunter to point out the ingredient that they were missing for their Harry Potter reenactment.

"Angelica Root," Dean supplied, abandoning his mime routine. It wasn't like Sam didn't know he was sitting there, hearing every word Wade said. And Sam already knew he had lied to him. '_When Sam gets here, I'm so screwed,_' because he could already picture his brother's angry yet hurt expression in his mind's eye.

Hearing Dean's voice in the background, detecting his brother's pain, pain that Dean had purposefully kept from his voice when he had talked to him, Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. He should have seen through Dean's deflection but he had wanted Dean to be OK so badly that he had greedily clung to the lies Dean had thrown his way. "I'll get the herb and be there soon as I can," he vowed to Dean even though Wade was the one who could hear him.

Addressing Dean, Wade announced, "Sam'll get the ingredient. You need anything else?"

"Pizza," Dean petulantly demanded, wanted something to look forward to later. "All meat. No veggies. And tell Sam I don't want a stupid salad. And hot wings. Beer…."  
"Not with the meds you're on…" Wade cut in.

"Who said I'm taking the meds," Dean challenged, didn't know that his whole grumpy dialogue was reaching Sam, was helping to ease some of his brother's guilt and worry.

"Tell Dean I'll throw in some pie and be there soon as I can," Sam instructed Wade. He hung up before the other man could agree to pass his message onto his brother. Turning to Nathan, he demanded, "Do you have a herb shop in town?"

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Dean eyed Wade as the other man reread over the spell. For the life of him, he didn't quite know why Wade was doggedly insisting on helping him. "By the way, you suck at patient-doctor confidentiality," he goaded, knew the best way to get answers sometimes was for him to be a jerk, even to people who totally didn't deserve it. Wade's jaw jumped but stubbornly didn't look up at him, continued pouring over the spell book.

Reading Wade's keep-out signs, Dean contemplated letting the man's motives remain a mystery, might have if he hadn't sensed an undercurrent of pain running through the younger man. And dang it, he was never good at accepting other people being in pain, found it nearly impossible to watch, especially when it was someone he cared about. And somehow, without his permission, Wade, and heck, even Nathan, had slipped behind his barriers, had become friends.

"Why did you insist on telling Sam that you couldn't treat the burns?" Dean pressed, was surprised that he didn't feel as much resentment at the medic's actions as he did relief. He was beginning to realize the wisdom of letting Sam help treat his burns, knew it would go a long way in soothing his brother's guilt complex. Then there was the added benefit that the new plan didn't require him to try and forestall Sam's return to the room and to him.

Knowing Sam like he did, Dean guessed that his brother had had time to nearly convince himself that it would be best if he didn't come back, that they should work the case apart. '_But now that Sam knows I need him_…' Dean barely held back a smile. That changed everything. Sam had never left him high and dry, was always at his side when it counted. Always.

Today would be no different.

Almost convincing himself to thank Wade for his interference, Dean didn't get the chance as the medic finally got around to answering his question.

"Sam deserved to know how seriously you were hurt," Wade snapped, felt the terrible ache of remembered pain welling in him.

"You and I were gonna handle it. We could have treated the burns and Sam would never have known how bad they were," Dean maintained, really wanted to know what Wade found so offensive about his Plan A. He wasn't expecting the intensity of the searing gaze Wade leveled at him or the rancor of the medic's next words.

"You told Sam that the burns weren't bad!" Wade growled, couldn't believe Dean could sit there so innocently, like he hadn't done something wrong. "You lied to him!"

"I didn't lie," Dean denied with a cocky smirk, "…I just tweaked the truth. I'm gonna be fine."

"You don't know that!" Wade shouted, daring Dean to lie to his face, to tell him that same old fairy tale that older brothers always told little brothers.

Wanting to calm Wade down, to settle the rising fear he sensed in the younger man, Dean lightheartedly cajoled, "Come on, this isn't so bad. Barely makes the memorable category in the injuries I've…."

"Don't lie to me anymore, Oliver!" Wade thundered, caught his slipup a second too late, could already see it registering with Dean. Cursing, he stood up, crossed over to the kitchenette and ran his hand over his mouth. He was making this personal and it wasn't, shouldn't be. But it was. It was so personal that it was tearing apart the wound he thought he had cauterized years ago.

Hearing the raw pain in Wade's tone, seeing the horrified recognition in the other man's eyes that he had let something personal break free of the walls he had erected, Dean felt a deeper connection with Wade. Hidden pain, he knew all about. "Who's Oliver?" he gently asked, watched the twitch in Wade's back when he spoke the name.

Hoarsely, Wade answered, "He was my brother."

Dean couldn't help but flinch at the past tense reference. How many times had he had to reference Sam in the past tense?! '_Difference is, I got Sam back, Sam's still with me. Wade, he didn't get that blessing._' Half in question and half in sorrowful conclusion he quietly said, "You lost him?"

Wade closed his eyes. He couldn't have agreed more fervently with Dean's statement. "Yeah, I lost him." '_I did that. I failed him. I let his lies soothe me. I let him die in my arms.'_

Sensing the guilt amid Wade's grief, Dean bit his lip. He was on a first name basis with guilt, knew her unholy presence only too well, because every time he lost Sam, it was his fault, his failure that took Sam away from him. "Older brother?" For it was starting to make sense, the way Wade was so keen to go all protective on him…like he was trying to right a wrong.

Wade nodded and then turned around to face Dean. It was a punch in the gut to see the sympathy, the understanding, the mirrored pain in Dean's features. Like Dean knew what he was feeling, didn't mock him for it. And maybe it was the belief that he and Dean were kindred spirits that had him opening up, telling Dean things he had told only Nathan and then that was after a few years of friendship. "Our parents were dead, so it was just Oliver and me. All we had was each other."

Dean swallowed hard and dropped his eyes. That statement hit him right where he lived. Sam was all _he_ had, was the most important thing to him since he was four years old.

Pausing when Dean's eyes fled from his, Wade considered shutting up but then Dean's gaze again found his and he nearly cringed at the exposed pain he could sense in the other man. It gave him the courage to continue, to hope that, somehow, talking about Oliver, to someone who seemed to understand his pain, that it would temper some of his own pain. And he hoped that it might even lessen some of Dean's as well. "I idolized him, thought he was…." His eyes welled and he gave a bittersweet smile, "invincible."

Dean immediately thought of his father, of how strong he always thought his father was, that he had almost convinced himself that John Winchester couldn't die. Then he was proven so wrong, had helplessly stood there and watched the doctor try to get his father's heart started again. Then his father had went ahead and died on him. But worse than that, he had died for him. Pushing down all those memories and feelings, he faced Wade, patiently waited for the other man to speak again.

"But Oliver wasn't invincible," Wade stated with a broken inhale that might have been a laugh if it wasn't so close to being a sob.

"What happened?" Dean gently prompted, knew that, as painful as it was to talk about some things, sometimes they needed to be said, to be acknowledged before the wounds could heal. Sam had taught him that, was still teaching him that.

Pacing a few steps toward the door, Wade started, "We…we went climbing every Saturday when the weather was good." But then he stopped, did a hit and run with Dean's eye contact before he walked back to the unoccupied bed in the room and took a seat at the end, purposefully putting his back to Dean. "It was so….normal. Everything was going like it always did. And then his one pin near the summit came loose and he dropped a few feet before his other pin held. But he got slammed really hard against the rockface when his line went taut."

Wade bowed his head, ran a hand through his hair. "I …I thought he was dead. He…he wasn't moving. I got down to him fast as I could, was screaming his name. When I got to him, I was so afraid to touch him, afraid he would be….gone. Or that I would make him fall again, hurt him."

Surprisingly, Wade raised his head and chuckled. "Course with my stellar luck, Oliver came awake in time to see me crying like a girl, my trembling hand stroking his head." But the mirth soon gave way to a tone of bitter sorrow. "He teased me, said he guessed I really did care. Then I helped him down, told him I'd drive him to the hospital."

Dean's gut clenched, knew that somehow bad news was about to follow good.

"But he said…he said he was fine, didn't need to go to the hospital. And God help me, I believed him," Wade nearly wheezed out. "He thought I needed him to be invincible but I just needed ….I just needed him with me, you know."

Silently cursing at Wade's pain, at the ending he knew was coming, Dean fought back his own welling emotions. Knew how he would feel if the same thing happened with Sam.

"He…he just …collapsed three hours after that and I…I couldn't do anything. He died in my arms before I could even call an ambulance," Wade hoarsely concluded.

"I'm sorry, Wade," Dean quietly said, wished he had something better than words to give to the hurting younger man.

"What I keep thinking is, he didn't have to die. If he had just told me the truth, didn't try to be some …some super hero brother, he would be alive right now. I wouldn't have lost him," Wade bitterly theorized.

"You don't know that," Dean quietly repeated Wade's own words back on him. It earned him an over the shoulder glare from Wade. "He could have told you he wasn't feeling OK, you could have taken him to the hospital and he might have still died, Wade. You can't live in what-ifs, not and survive. I've learned that the hard way."

"So I'm supposed to be, what?! Be glad he lied to me?! Should I console myself with some lie that things couldn't have turned out differently if he had just trusted me with his weakness?!" Wade challenged heatedly.

"It wasn't about Oliver not trusting you," Dean gently contradicted, speaking from his own experiences, about his own bond with Sam.

"Then what was it about?! Ego? Some big brother rule?!" Wade spat, wanted Dean to explain it to him, make him understand why his brother lied to him with his last breath.

"Love," Dean bluntly stated. "It was about love."

"Don't say that," Wade dangerously warned, couldn't bear to hear what he always knew: that Oliver would be alive right then if his brother had loved him a little less, didn't care so much if his little brother idolized him.

"Wade, man, you were scared," Dean declared, not with condemnation but empathy. "And your brother knew that and he didn't want to scare you worse. Especially when he didn't know he was hurt that badly." Dean understood those motives. He would react the same way, would do that for Sam, had done it for Sam, today and a hundred times before. Protecting his little brother was as instinctive as breathing for him and, apparently, the same had been true of Wade's brother.

Wade stilled, felt his breath trap in his chest as he held Dean's eyes, demanded the older man to not sugarcoat things for him, like Oliver had. "You really think he didn't know ….that he thought he was OK?"

"He wouldn't leave you on purpose, you have to know that," Dean persuaded, part of him wishing Sam was there to hear the same thing.

Closing his eyes, Wade looked away from Dean but he nodded his head. Out of all the doubts he had harbored over losing Oliver, his brother's love and loyalty to him wasn't something he ever questioned. "I know," he hoarsely acknowledged, shamed now at the anger he had leveled at Oliver for dying how he did.

"Your brother didn't mean to leave, Wade, things just …got out of his control," Dean pointed out, thought about his own heart attack, crossroad deal, that whole "Mystery Spot" fiasco. He hadn't meant to hurt Sam, to leave him alone, he had just had no way to stay.

Sensing guilt and regret in Dean's words, Wade carefully prodded, "Things ever get out of your control like that?" leveling a probing look to Dean.

Dean gave a bitter scoff. "More than you'd ever believe. I've left Sam so many times when I didn't want to…."

"Like you almost permanently did two days ago?" Wade speculated, a hint of criticism in his tone.

Dean's eyes narrowed at the medic. "What, now you're taking Sam's side? About to lecture me on not inciting trees to try and smush me?"

Unexpectedly, Wade did feel more solidarity with Sam than before, understood how scared Sam must have really been at his brother's accident scene the other day. "I think Sam would welcome my help in keeping you in line," he boasted with a wide smile.

"Keeping me in line?! Keeping me in line?" Dean repeated in annoyance. "I think you're forgetting who the big brother is around here."

"No, I'm not," Wade returned, knew that, if he could have, he would have protected Oliver as fiercely as his big brother had always protected him. And Sam, he obviously felt the same way about his own big brother. "No one said little brothers can't reign in big brothers when they're being stupid. And I bet Nathan will side with us too. He's loyal to me like that."

"What are we, in grade school?" Dean taunted But inside, he was relieved that some of Wade's melancholy had faded, that he had a hand in patching up another brotherly relationship even if his own was currently a bit curse- afflicted.

Wade smiled wider. "Aw, is someone feeling a little ganged up on."

"Yes," Dean gruffly admitted, which only made Wade give him a cocky wink.

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Cutting the car engine, Sam sat staring at the motel door. Though he was just a few meters away from Dean, he couldn't make himself move, enter the room, face his brother. '_I shouldn't feel this…this dread…this fear!' _

Slamming the steering wheel with his hand, Sam cursed. He had done a lot of things that he feared Dean would never forgive him for. But, no matter how deeply his actions hurt Dean, his brother had always forgiven him. That Dean hadn't spoken even one word of condemnation to him for killing his daughter, that was just another example of his brother's merciful tolerance when it came to him. It left him without a doubt that Dean wasn't holding a grudge for his unintentional part in bringing him pain that day.

So it wasn't his brother's absolution that was tripping him up but his own.

Then there was the knowledge of what awaited him on the other side of that motel room door: The horrible proof of what his touch had done to his brother's flesh, the unsettling sight of Dean being in pain, pain that Wade's medic skills were useless in alleviating. And worse still was the high probability that he would hurt Dean again, would inadvertently touch him, maybe even just get too close. _'Because who knows what the next stage of this curse is. Dean burning up in front of my eyes?!'_

A flood of sharp nightmarish images assailed him, had him bowing his head and clamping his eyes shut, praying that it would stop, not be a forewarning of what was to come. He startled when someone rapped on the car window.

Nathan stood by his driver's side door, holding three pizza boxes with a six pack of soda balanced on top, giving him that wary cop am-I-dealing-with-someone-who-is-about-to-flip-out-on-me look. It made Sam smirk. '_He doesn't understand that I've already been crazy, bought the t-shirt._'

And who had been there with him through all that? Dean. Dean hadn't walked away, even when he almost shot him thinking he wasn't real. It was Dean who simply chose to ignore the fact that his brother spoke to hallucinations, got hunting _advice_ from them. His brother didn't leave him to die when he had asked him to. Had gone out and found a miracle to save him, even though that miracle required him to trust the person who had betrayed him the most.

'_And I'm not leaving Dean alone and in pain now,_' Sam found himself fervently vowing_. 'This curse wants me to be too afraid to be around Dean. To give up on us being brothers. Not gonna happen.'_

Nathan almost ended up with a car door to the face when Sam suddenly exited the car, a small brown bag and a pie in hand. "You alright?" Nathan asked with concern, didn't blame the younger man for having a mini breakdown but he wanted to help if he could.

Sam nodded and then was stalking for the door, praying with each step that he wasn't about to cause Dean more pain by returning to his side. With a shaky exhale, he slid the key card into the lock and pushed the door open. His resolve to not run away almost crumbled when he saw his brother, not impatiently pacing the room but propped up in bed, his arms curled around his middle.

But then Dean raised his head and their eyes met across the small space of the room.

Before Sam could think of what to say, Dean gave him his tender '_I forgive you Sammy'_ smile and Sam affectionately thought, '_jerk_', because he could practically feel the pain radiating off Dean from where he stood. But his brother's forgiveness and misery made it impossible for Sam to not enter the room.

His fear replaced by determination, he stalked into the room, brown bag and pie in hand. Relegating the pie to the kitchenette countertop, he opened the brown bag on the table, breathed in the aroma of the Angelica Root and ordered, "Wade, bring the book to me. Nathan, start boiling some water."

"Sammy, ease down on the orders, huh," Dean directed at his brother, who shot him a soft but still effective 'shut-up-Dean. I'm-in-charge-now' glare. "Oh great," Dean muttered under his breath, knew they were all in for a time of it now that bossy, overprotective Sam was on the scene. Dean was already taking bets on how long before Nathan and Wade pretended to get an emergency call and bolted for the door.

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Tbc

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Thanks for reading and for your reviews that I just smile over and reread and reread!

If the next section I wrote is like this one, I'll need to make some changes/corrections and/or overhauls but I'm aiming to post again next week sometime.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	12. Chapter 12

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Since my reviewers have been so kind and encouraging, I got the next part ready awhile and I'm posting it today, before the week starts.

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Chapter 12

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If Nathan had doubts about his suitability to be a cop after Brendal's attack on his own brother, it was only getting stronger as he watched Sam and Wade read aloud the craziest recipe he had ever heard and throw the worst ingredients into a bowl and grind them until they were almost a paste. Felt he had stepped into a sequel to the "Exorcist" when Sam started chanting in another language. Wade had shot him a 'what are we part of?!' look but hadn't moved from Sam's side, stood there like he wasn't afraid, didn't want to run for the door.

Honestly, Nathan knew he would have made it out first in that competition. But what kept him rooted to the spot half way between the spell weavers and the wounded Dean was the same thing that had him becoming a cop: the desire to do good, to help people. '_Even people who are scaring the living crap out of me right now_.' And that need motivated him to move toward Dean, to claim a seat on the other bed and meet the pained eyes of Sam's older brother. "How are you holding up?" he quietly asked, his eyes unconsciously dropping to inspect the man's arms. He couldn't help but wince in sympathetic pain at the raw blistered red skin.

"I'm awesome," Dean glibly returned with a fake smile, hated that Nathan's look turned even more pitying. "I'll be fine," he tagged on, like Nathan was the one who needed reassurances.

But Nathan was no stranger to bravado or a novice at techniques to calm a wounded person. So he nodded his head in agreement. "Well there are twenty-four sets of brothers working together in town," he imparted, hoping to distract Dean from his pain,

Dean's eyebrows rose at the number. "Twenty-four? In a town this size. That's …impressive."

"Guess so. Anyway, more than half of them were glad to be ordered to separate, were close to killing each other," Nathan offhandedly surmised before his face paled as he remembered who he was talking to. "Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply you and Sam…."

"Don't worry about it. And the other half of the brotherly duos who wouldn't split up?"

'_Like you and Sam_,' Nathan silently thought before saying aloud, "I threatened to toss one or both of them in jail. Only had to actually do it to two of the brothers."

"And you told them not to leave town?" Dean pressed, had to make sure they didn't make any more mistakes, cost anyone else their lives…or anyone their brothers.

"Yup. Like right out of an old western," Nathan joked, appreciated Dean smirking at his attempt at levity.

Both Nathan and Dean looked up as Wade was suddenly there, bowl in hand and face set in determination like he wasn't looking forward to the task ahead. And behind him, practically melding into the wall, was Sam, his eyes fixed on Dean and his jaw clenching when his eyes drifted to the burns.

"Let me get out of your way…" Nathan began but Sam abruptly cut him off.

"No stay. Help Wade."

And one glance at Sam told Nathan it wasn't a request, that Sam would bar his way if he tried to wuss out of helping his brother.

Holding Sam's eyes but his words for Nathan, Dean apologized, "Sorry about Sammy. He gets a little overbearing sometimes, thinks he's my mother instead of my brother."

Sam knew what Dean was trying to do and loved him even more for his efforts. So, giving a half smirk, he volleyed back, "Hey, you're the one that would pack my lunch for schools, Mr. Mom."

Before Dean could think of a viable comeback, Wade claimed a seat on the bed at his waist and sat the bowl down on the mattress. Dean almost gagged at the smell wafting from the bowl, saw, out of the corner of his eye, Nathan turning his head and putting his hand to his nose.

"Holy crap that stuff smells awful!" Dean exclaimed, trying to shift further back against the headboard.

"You picked the spell," Sam countered with a devious spark flickering in his eyes. But it soon melted away to the look Dean was all too familiar with: worried little brother. Sam's next words were directed at Wade. "Ok, Wade, start applying the ointment to the burns. You can put it on pretty thick. It's probably best if you lather up your gloves with it."

"Yeah, I already tested how hot his skin is," Wade readily concurred with Sam's advice as he dunked his gloved hands into the bowl, hoped that he could touch Dean's burns without receiving burns of his own.

"Sam, we could use a towel," Nathan called, saw the Sam's reluctance to move, to let his brother out of his sight. He was about to maneuver around Wade and get the towel himself when Sam pushed off the wall, darted into the bathroom and retuned in two seconds flat. But Sam was halfway toward him when he stopped abruptly and his eyes shot fearfully to Dean.

At first Nathan didn't understand Sam's sudden halt and then he understood painfully clear, knew that Sam realized his current proximately to Dean and feared that getting even within two feet of his brother would put Dean in danger of being hurt by him again. Nathan caught the towel as Sam threw it to him, watched as Sam retreated back to the wall, to the zone he deemed safe.

Forlornly wondering how the brothers were going to deal with the emotional fallout of this, Nathan quelled his emotions and focused on the current trouble at hand. Snapping open the towel, he settled it over a pillow then put the pillow over Dean's lap. "Put your hands on the pillow," he instructed Dean, realized that Dean wouldn't move to do his bidding until he pulled his hands away, until the other man knew he wouldn't touch him by accident. So he pulled back, retreated to the other bed again.

Slowly, Dean uncurled his arms from his waist, waited a beat to make sure Nathan wouldn't reach for him again and Wade wasn't going to help him. Sensing no impeding movement from either man, he stretched out his arms, settled them carefully on the pillow with a wince. And he couldn't help but search out Sam, hated the pinched guilty look his brother was sporting. But before he could think of what to say, his brother swallowed hard and his face morphed into that determined set that Dean knew heaven and hell had lost out to more than once.

"Dean, the ointment might…." Sam began but got choked up on the word that sounded so innocent in his head.

But Dean gave him a cocky smirk, finished for him. "Might what? Burn?"

Nathan and Wade felt the air suck right out of the room, neither sure if they were about to witness a mental breakdown or a brawl between the brothers. Wholly didn't expect Sam to give a snort of laughter.

"Jerk!" Sam sputtered, fighting his grin as his warm gaze rested on his ridiculously cocky, not so funny brother.

"Too soon?" Dean brazenly asked, his expression saying he was far from feeling repentant.

"Yeah," Sam replied through a laugh. "Wade, I think we got it wrong, I think he needs to drink the potion."

"Don't even joke about that," Dean scoffed. "That stuff smells like…"

"Butt, I know," Sam supplied, knowing his brother so well in that moment that it sent an ache vibrating through his chest. '_Cause that only means I know how to hurt him worse than anyone else ever could.'_

With Sam's voice going all soft and wounded, Dean knew that, whatever Sam needed him to do, he would do. Would do what he had to do to make things right between them. So he turned his focus onto Wade. "Alright, lay that crap on thick," he instructed, more for Wade's benefit than his own. He didn't need the medic to suffer burns trying to cure him.

Drawing in a steadying breath, fighting the urge to look over his shoulder and get Sam's OK to proceed, Wade got a gooey handful of the ointment and, meeting Dean's eyes, he started slathering it onto the man's raw burns.

Tensed for agony, Dean nearly sighed in contentment when the first glob of ointment quieted down the raging agony emanating from the burns. Unconsciously he closed his eyes, snapped them open a second later at his brother panicked, "Dean!"

Half way to Dean, his brother's name bursting from him, Sam came up short at the end of the bed when his brother's eyes snapped open.

"Crap! For smelling like something dead from a century ago, that stuff feels awesome," Dean nearly gushed. "I think we should market it, put it in spas across the country."

"Dean, you almost gave me a heart attack!" Sam thundered, waving his arms before he bit his lip. Tentative asked a moment later, "So it's…it's working. The burns..the pain…"

But Wade bent down to inspect Dean's burns, was the one who spoke next. "I don't believe this." His statement of awe caused Nathan to lean in for a look. Wiping more of the ointment away, Wade uncovered more of the burn for his inspection, found the same results.

Turning around to Sam, Wade announced with astonishment, "The burn, it's disappearing."

Sam clamped his eyes shut, exhaled, "Thank God."

"Does this mean you can touch him without hurting him?" Nathan asked, looking to Sam.

"No," Sam replied taking a few steps away from Dean, upset that he had drawn so close in the wake of his fear and then his relief.

"Yes," Dean firmly countered, eyes clashing with Sam's.

"Settle down, both of you" Wade refereed. "We'll get Dean all good to go and then we'll brainstorm what to do next over some pizza."

"Yeah, because you and I are experts at curses and spells now," Nathan sarcastically muttered under his breath, earning a petulant, "Dude, shut up" from Wade.

"Oh, excuse me, Sarumon, white wizard of the Isengard." Nathan drawled.

"You're confused, he was the bad wizard," Wade corrected, shooting his friend a dark look which was greeted by Nathan's Cheshire cat smile.

"I know," Nathan humorously confessed.

"Ohhh, you're gonna pay for that, later," Wade vowed, before returning back to his patient.

The interchange between the best friends had Sam and Dean sharing a smirk. That would so be them if the roles were reversed. If fate had dealt things a different way, if they were best friends instead of being brothers.

It brought Ash's words in heaven back to Sam: that some souls, like his and Dean's, were meant to share this life and even the next.

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At the foot of Dean's bed, Paytah stood, watched in rage as the burns healed under the potion's power. But more infuriating than that, he could sense the cracks in the brothers' bond mending. "Fool!" he spat at the elder sibling, at the white man's naivety, at his misplaced faith in his brother. "You think he will save you but he will condemn you to eternal shame."

Turning to the younger brother, he ached to strike him down, to make him suffer for convincing his brother to foolishly forgive him, wished to kill him for the unfaithfulness that was his very nature.

'_Just as it was in Wanikiya's nature,'_ Paytah bitterly condemned, cursed himself for not seeing his brother, Wanikiya's, true heart. To his utter shame, his brother's betrayal had not just caused him pain, his own blood to spill, his own life to be lost, but had cost the lives of all of their people. So the duty fell to him to avenge their deaths, to make Wanikiya pay for his betrayal, to restore honor to their land and ensure that no other brother desecrated their sacred ground with selfishness and disloyalty.

But the proud chikala ciye (little brother) before him, Paytah found that he could not simply take the white man's life. No, something prevented him from having that justice. But he could make it painful, even impossible for the brothers to remain together. He would banish them from each other. Would not allow another little brother to destroy a brotherhood, to take his brother's love, his faith, his truth and soil it with blood.

"Wanikiya, no more will your memory taint this land, curse my soul and the souls of all brothers within our camp." Because soon, after hundreds of years of waiting, his forefathers were finally going to show him mercy for his patience, would allow him to cleanse his soul.

Lifting his head to the heavens, he spoke to his brother, knew his brother would hear his voice on the wind in the spirit world, "When I break the bond of these brothers who share a soul like we once did, then will I have the power to banish you. And then I will remember your name no more."

Claiming a seat in the corner of the motel room, Paytah bowed his head, spoke the words of banishment, would say the words as long as it took until his forefathers heard him, gave their blessing, allowed him to finally wipe his family's shame from their memories.

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It was only after Wade had insisted that he be allowed to check the stitches on Dean's back and give Sam a cursory exam after his flash flood ride, that the four men finally sat down to devour the by-then cold pizzas and talk about their respective days. To the Winchesters' disappointment, neither Wade nor the hometown resident, Nathan, even knew there was a cave system in the woods by the town limits. But Nathan had provided them with a town historian he swore looked old enough to have been there when the town was named.

After the four men polished off the pizzas, Sam reached for a napkin in the middle of the table, wasn't prepared for his brother to reach out and grab his hand.

"Dean, don't!" Sam shouted, used his other hand to pry Dean's hand from his. Then he flung himself out of his chair and stumbled back a few steps.

Unworriedly looking down at his hand, Dean slowly turned it over. He gave an almost amused, "Huh," before Wade captured his hand.

"Is he burned?" Sam breathlessly asked of the medic while he silently heaped curses on Dean for wanting to test a theory whose results could end up hurting him. Again.

"Not on his palm…" Wade began, before his fingers trailed to the back of Dean's hand. He held up Dean's hand for Sam and Nathan to see. "But the back of his hand is."

For a moment, Sam didn't understand. A moment later, his face darkened as realization sank in. "Dean wasn't burned when he touched me but when I reached out, initiated the contact…."

Dean's eyes rose to Sam's in wonder. "Instant sunburn again." Seeing the renewed anguish in Sam's eyes, he wished he had let the mystery stand…well at least until the next day. "Ok, so now we know it's not gone yet. Good to know."

"You stupid jerk!" Sam bellowed in response to his brother's carefree, glass-is-half-full tone. Nothing set him off more than when Dean pretended that his pain was inconsequential. In fact, he would swear that sometimes his brother sought out pain.

Wade quickly put the ointment on Dean's new burn and it vanished, as the others had. But the tension in the room between the brothers wasn't so easily remedied.

Sam was furious, wished to punch something, the wall…his brother. Because the knowledge that the burn could be quickly healed with the potion, it wasn't the point. What mattered most to him was that Dean was put in pain, unnecessarily.

But Dean didn't seem to get that, acted hurt when Sam skirted around him the rest of the evening, threatened to take Nathan up on his offer to bunk on his couch unless Dean swore to keep his distance from him. Dean didn't concede with anything approaching grace but he did give his word and that was good enough for Sam.

Promising to contact Wade and Nathan the next day, Sam bade the two men good night and closed the motel room door. For all the times that his and Dean's arguing had made their shared motel rooms seem small, the present room with their current touch restrictions seemed like it had claustrophobic inducing, shoebox sized proportions. It was an awkward, almost humorous if it wasn't so painful, dance for them to perform their nighttime rituals. And it took some direction to figure out their bathroom shifts and how to maneuver into their respective beds without ending up in the narrow space between the beds at the same time.

To add insult to injury, sleep was a long time in coming for Sam. And it wasn't about his earlier nap. No, instead he couldn't shake the nagging worry that his touch might always burn Dean, that, after all the things that they had gone through to be together again, to stay together, it might all have been in vain. That it was going to be undone by something as commonplace in their lives as a curse.

Punching his pillow, wishing it was the puppet master in the town's curses, Sam rolled over, told himself he was worrying for nothing, that he and Dean would figure it out like they always did. '_Well, almost always did_,' he bleakly qualified because there was the time Dean went to hell…and then his own trip downstairs…and then there was Bobby's death. Ok, so their track record wasn't great lately, downright sucked.

'_But we can't fail in this. Not about this_.' Because it just wasn't something he thought he could live with, treating Dean like he was a leaper. He needed to be able to friggin' touch Dean! 90% of their jobs were about them helping each other, out of graves, off the ground, shoving each other out of the way of danger, patching each other up. But it was more than that, was about the simple niceties they took for granted: like handing each other drinks, sharing food, holding doors open for each other, and giving affectionate pats, smacks, shoulder bumps and offering grounding contact when the other was physically spent or emotionally spiraling out of control.

Reaching for each other, them touching, even when it wasn't a conscious action, it was part of who they were. '_And I never realized it…until now, when the option is gone_,' he morosely thought.

"Sammy, stop with the menopause breakdown already or I might rethink letting you touch me when we break this stupid curse," came Dean's muffled voice from the other bed.

Feeling his trapped breath ease out of him, Sam gave an affectionate snort. It shouldn't have surprised him that Dean somehow sensed he was on the verge of a panic attack, that his big brother still deemed it his job to take care of his little brother.

"Who says I want to touch you, jerk," Sam jeered.

"Who else will help you style your mane of hair?" Dean taunted and Sam chuckled back a "One time, dude, I had you help me style my hair once because my friggin' arm was broken."

"Sure, Fabio, whatever you need to tell yourself," Dean replied, smiled as a pillow smacked him on the back of his head.

Smirking at his brother's seemingly never ending collection of his most embarrassing moments, Sam smirked and it wasn't long before he dropped off to sleep.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for those wonderful reviews for last chapter!

I know the case isn't being solved very quickly but I'm hoping you're enjoying the brotherly interaction in the meantime.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	13. Chapter 13

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 13

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Sam doubted it was even six am when he opened up his eyes, but his first conscious thought was that he had only dreamed that Dean's burns were gone. Frantically rolling over to see his brother in the room's other bed, he breathed out "Thank God" before settling onto his back and exhaling loudly. The arm Dean had slid under his head was mercifully burn free.

And the miraculous healing hadn't even come at the cost of either of their souls, their blood or even additional pain to Dean.

That was so unlike their luck that Sam wondered if he should be worried. And then he remembered that their luck wasn't really changing. His touch still burned Dean, as his stupid brother had insisting on finding out the previous night. At least the potion didn't seem to have a short shelf life because, whether he liked it or not, another incident was likely to happen. He touched Dean so automatically, without thought and he knew it was the same for his brother. Which was kind of telling for Sam considering anyone else touching him was off limits unless he gave specific permission. Even Jessica had had to learn his tells, to know when he would welcome her touch. Dean never asked permission, didn't have to. '_Would touch me more if he thought it would annoy me_,' Sam fondly thought, knew his brother loved irritating him every chance he got.

Crawling out of bed, he headed for the bathroom. When his bladder was satisfied, he found he was too awake to think sleep would reclaim him. So he made a detour, snagged the book they had gotten the spell from last night off the bureau and sat down at the table. For the first time, he took the time to study the book. The binding was about shot and someone had put that clear sticky postage tape on to keep it together. But the book had endured other damage. Some of the pages had dark stains on them, were crinkled like something liquid had soaked them and then they had dried. But he knew they had been dried with meticulous care because none of the pages were actually destroyed, were painstakingly dried apart to try and preserve them and keep them legible.

'_Sounds just like Bobby_.' Checking the title again, he frowned, didn't even know this was one of Bobby's books that they were toting around. '_Maybe Dean had squirreled this away like he did the flask_,' and that put the book in a whole new light. Worried that it might mean Dean hadn't been upfront with him, thought Bobby's spirit might be attached to the book not the flask he had not-so-willingly put in the storage unit, Sam started inspecting the book, looking for Bobby's handwritten notes or something tucked inside it, something that endeared the book to his brother.

What he found on the back cover of the book made his blood run cold. There was a stamp there: _Horace's Used Books_. But the next line was the one that scared Sam. '_Cicero, Indiana'_. The town where Dean was supposed to be living a normal, safe, apple pie life with Lisa and Ben. A life that didn't require Dean reading a book like Sam presently had in his hand.

Dread building, Sam frantically began turning the pages of the book, didn't want to acknowledge, even to himself, what he thought he might find. Instincts kicking in, he turned to the most warped page, kept turning until he came to the epicenter of the stain, where the liquid had covered both of the open pages.

The print there was blurred, faded, but Sam's lips moved as he read the use for the incantation: To bind two souls together, to make the fate of one soul the fate of the other.

Everything stopped for Sam: his mind, his breath, his _heart._

And then it restarted, painfully. Taking a gasping breath, he felt his heart would just quit on him, it was racing so fast. Meanwhile, he wished his mind wasn't kicking in, that it wasn't telling him what he already knew. That Dean had used the spell in the hopes of getting him out of Hell. But if the spell didn't work that way, couldn't perform that miracle, Dean fully accepted the opposite outcome: his own soul being thrown into the Cage, for him to be in torment with his brother for all of eternity.

Sam's eyes blurred with tears and he fought his rage and his overwhelming love for his brother as his eyes ran down the list of ingredients. He closed his eyes at the last item on the list: _one of those soul's life blood_.

At that moment, Sam knew what liquid had stained the book: Blood.

It was Dean's blood that had pooled on the book. With sickening certainty, he knew that his selfless, no selfish , brother had cut one of his arteries, had used his life's blood for the incantation, hoped to tether their souls, to make their fates one. Even if that put Dean in Hell all over again.

Surging out of the chair, book in hand, Sam crossed over to the end of Dean's bed, kicked the bed, jolting his brother's sleeping form awake.

"What?" Dean demanded as he sat up, nerves on high alert and his gun out from under his pillow and in his hand. He quickly lowered the gun when he found himself pointing it at his own brother. "Sam, you trying to get shot?!"

"You thought I wouldn't find out!," Sam accusingly hissed at Dean, his whole body humming with anger and fear.

Squinting at Sam, Dean sat up straighter, wasn't sure what he had done to make Sam mad at him but was wise enough to take it seriously. "Ok, you're pissed at me, I can see that. You tell me why and maybe I have a shot at defending myself."

In answer, Sam flung the book at Dean, who caught it a second after one of its corners jabbed into his gut, making him groan in surprised pain.

Looking down to the book, Dean cursed silently as the implications of what could be sparking Sam's anger became clear. But being one to try everything before admitting defeat, he decided on the path of deflection, thought he might be jumping to the wrong conclusion. After all, there was no use in _giving_ Sam reasons to be angry with him. Raising his eyes again to Sam, he confessed, "Yes, alright. I picked up the book while I was with Lisa and Ben. Excuse me for not being able to sink my teeth into a lame bestseller, for needing to read something that I understood, that was real."

Sam's hands fisted at his brother's white lie. "So you never hunted while you were in Cicero and I was in Hell?" Sam queried, his voice tighter than a high wire.

"Technically, you weren't in Hell while I was at Cicero and I did hunt…with you. Well not you _you_ but…."

"Dean, did you use any of the spells in that book?!" Sam shouted, needed Dean to say the words, to tell him the truth, to _trust_ him with the truth.

Suddenly Dean didn't harbor any doubt that Sam knew the answer to his own question, that his brother knew exactly what spell he had used…and why. But Dean didn't want to be on the defensive, to make it seem he was ashamed at his attempt. Because he wasn't. So he calmly stated, "I already told you I tried to get you out," watched as Sam swallowed hard like he was about to either let out a scream or worse, a sob, before he looked away, struggled to compose himself.

But Dean refused to apologize for what he had done, wouldn't have undone his attempt. Well, maybe for a while there, like say ….half a year, he might have. Truth was, during his time with soulless Sam, he had started to feel a little foolish that he had made the effort, that he had thought Sam was worth that. He couldn't help voice that hurt now, even though he knew it wasn't _his_ Sam's fault.

Shifting to sit Indian style on the bed, Dean gave a bitter laugh that brought his brother's eyes snapping to him. "Course, I didn't know you were out of Hell by that time. Well, part of you. That joke was on me. There I was, willing to …to .." he rubbed his hand over his mouth, didn't need to elaborate, for Sam or himself. " …and you were alive, walking, talking, hunting, had established a new family. You didn't need me…or even want me. Didn't even want me to know you were alive. Bobby didn't even bother to tell me that."

Dean opening up, revealing the hurt inflicted on him by that particular deception, not only by soulless him but also by Bobby, it made Sam see that space of time from a new perspective. It made him think how he would feel if Dean had gotten out of Hell and not come to him. If Dean had left him go on believing that he was still down there suffering, still needed saving. If he had had to live with the terrible weight of failing to save Dean longer than he already had, _needlessly?_!

And then, to top it all off, if Bobby knew Dean was alive and out of Hell and didn't tell him?! Had a hand in keeping his own brother from him?! '_Like this curse is trying to forbid me from touching my own brother?!' _

Sam had no words to describe how any of that would have made him feel.

Silently cursing at his brother's lingering pain over that deception, Sam shook his head, "I'm sorry, Dean. I never…"

"Wasn't you," Dean mumbled, eyes downcast, fingers fidgeting with the sheet.

'_But_ _part of it was_,' he guiltily believed but knew Dean would disagree. Aloud he admitted, "I didn't see it from your point of view before. If you had stayed away from me after Cas pulled you from Hell…." Sam gave a humorously bark of laughter, "Crap, with you back I kicked off the apocalypse out of revenge for what they did to you, think what I would have done if I believed you were still in hell."

Dean gave a smirk, deduced with a twinkle in his eyes, "You probably would have worked out more until you could bench press Hummers. Would have started wearing black clothing, maybe with a cape."

Sam chuckled as his brother's humor, at Dean's pardoning of his past sins like they were something more of comic book than truth. "You sure I wouldn't have grown a handlebar mustache that I twisted?"

"Nope. With your baby face you'd be lucky to grow some peach fuzz."

"Ha Ha," but Sam was smiling, almost took a seat on Dean's bed before he caught himself, sat on his own bed instead and faced his brother.

Dean knew his reprieve was over when his brother's eyes ghosted over with pain and Sam's voice was threaded through with his hurt, worried little brother timbre. "Dean, you promised to not try and get me out of Hell. We agreed it was too risky."

"You agreed, I didn't," Dean countered, saw Sam's lips thin out in frustration. "I wasn't going to just let you there, Sam. Not if I could find a way …"

"To what? Get me out or condemn yourself to the cage with me?!" Sam shot back, still couldn't believe Dean had risked that, had done exactly the very, very last thing he would ever want him to.

"Yes," Dean unflinchingly declared, holding Sam's eyes, daring his brother to tell him he couldn't do that, that he had no right to do it. "The spell was my best chance and I took it, Sam." Seeing the protest, the anger in his brother's face, Dean cut him off, "You told me all the crap you tried to get me free so don't stand there and point fingers, Sam. You would have done the same thing. You did!"

As much as Sam knew Dean was right, there was one concession he wasn't going to make. "I didn't commit suicide, Dean! Didn't slice my ….my wrists or throat or whatever you did for some untested spell! What is wrong with you?!" And he rose from the bed, paced to the door before turning around to glare at his brother. "You think I wanted you dead…or you there with me!? The reason I jumped in the first place was to save you."

But Dean corrected, "No, Sam you jumped into the Cage to save the world."

"Did I?" Sam sharply challenged. When Dean tilted his head in surprised doubt, Sam despaired that his brother would ever face the truth. '_How can he not see it was for him, it was all for him, was always about saving him!'_

Dismissing Sam's confusing rebuttal, Dean said, "You told me you wanted to die, thought Ruby was the only thing stopping you from taking risks that would get you killed. You were just as …"

"As desperate?" Sam finished, nodded his head before he completed it verbally, "Yes, I was desperate and look where that got me. Trusting Ruby, drinking blood…turning against you when I miraculously got you back. I never wanted you to go down that path, not for anyone, never for me. Not again. Besides, you went to Hell for me once, thought it was time I replayed the favor," he said, a bittersweet smile turning up his lips.

"Sam," Dean growled angrily at his brother's logic as he came off his bed. And he so hated that Sam retreated back from him. "Stop treating me like I have the plague!"

Sam paled, hadn't meant for Dean to be hurt by his actions. "Dean, I'm patient zero here, not you."

Sam using his gentle tone on him only made it worse. "Right, because you never willingly choose to run away from me," Dean caustically volleyed back.

Not having much in the way of defense, Sam chose silence over making a response. But it was hard not to move back a step when Dean stepped closer and closer…until his brother gave a roll of his eyes and veered off into the kitchenette. Exhaling at the close call, Sam watched as Dean's hand coiled around a beer bottle in the fridge. "Dean…" he beseeched.

"Friggin' killjoy," Dean muttered as he released the beer bottle, pulled out the milk jug and proceeded to swig a drink right from the bottle, just to aggravate prissy Sam. He wasn't expecting to see Sam wearing a amused smile at his antics. Returning the milk to the refrigerator, he shut the door and leaned against it, his arms crossed as he faced his brother. "So you done throwing stones at me for making the same choices you made?" his tone hopeful instead of frustrated.

But Sam couldn't let it go, knew there was more that he had to say, make Dean accept. "No." Dean sighed and walked by him on the way to his bag, began rumbling through for clothing. "Dean, you promised."

"So did you," Dean shot over his shoulder, enjoyed Sam's grimace of shame. '_Yeah, got you there, Sam_.'

"Fine, alright. So we both broke our promises, doesn't mean either of us was right," Sam rationalized, knew Dean would meet him half way on that when his brother's defensive stance morphed to a limp shrug of his shoulders.

"Maybe," Dean allowed, pretending he was capable of concentrating on clothing when his brother's words cut him to the quick. Abandoning the deception, he turned around to face Sam. "I had to do something, Sam. You have to know that."

And Sam did, had been right there where Dean was. And he had done something, everything he could to free his brother from Hell, had failed spectacularly but at least he had tried. "I know," Sam quietly conceded, saw the last of his brother's walls come down and felt his own nerves untangle. "You lost pretty much blood…" he stated as if he was just making conversation, nodded to the book when Dean looked confused.

"Guess so," Dean downplayed, turning again to his clothing selection. He wasn't surprise when Sam didn't let him off with that.

"Come on, Dean," Sam entreated, no longer angry but his fear wouldn't so easily dissipate, not until he knew more. "The spell called for your "life's blood", those pages in the book were soaked with your blood…I just…I told you all the stuff with Ruby when you were gone." When Dean gave him a raised eye brow challenge to that statement, Sam huffed, "Ok, not all of it, not the drinking blood, exorcising parts but I thought I was protecting you, was doing it for you."

"Next time you think stuff like that, Sammy, run it by me first," Dean lightly scolded, softened the blow by pulling on a cocky smile. "Soulless Sam let me be his moral compass, you know."

Sam gave a scoffing laugh, "Yeah, tells me how clueless he was." Chuckling at his brother's hurt look, he prodded, "Dude, that means you have to do things better than I did. So spill."

"What? My blood?" Dean teased, but instantly knew his taunt was too close to the mark for Sam's comfort when his brother paled. "Alright, what do you want to know?"

Still reeling from the mental picture of his brother bleeding out, Sam was taking off guard by Dean's open question. "Ah, ok. So when did you realize that the spell wasn't going to work? How'd you get patched up after losing so much blood? Did Lisa find you?"

"No," Dean replied hoarsely. Unlike Sam, he knew the answers his brother wanted would open a whole new can of worms. And seriously, they had enough emotional crap on their plate already.

Sam shifted on his feet, was trying to be patient with Dean. Taking a seat at the table to prove he would take things at Dean's pace, he calmly urged Dean to clarify his one word reply. "No to what, Dean?"

Running a hand over his mouth, Dean gave Sam a weary look. "Sam, do we have to do this now?"

"Yeah, we do," Sam huskily answered. "I can't just shut this down, lock it away, put up another wall and pretend I'm not totally freaked out by what you did, Dean."  
"I'm here. I'm fine, Sam," Dean reassured, though he didn't think it would sway Sam. And it didn't.

"You weren't fine," Sam persisted, felt panic at his declaration even though he tried to convince himself that it didn't matter, the here and now mattered. But with them, the past, it held pieces to who they were, who they were together. And Sam needed to put those pieces into the gaps he sensed in his memory, in the chasm between him and Dean. "You could have died, Dean."

"Maybe I did," Dean quietly said, saw Sam's eyes widen and his brother's enforced calm go out the window. "I don't remember all of it," he quickly pacified.

Heart rate still rocketing, Sam instructed, "Then tell me what you do remember."

Claiming a chair at the table too, impressed that Sam didn't scoot farther away from him, Dean began, "I remember starting to recite the Latin…"

"After you sliced your throat?" Sam sniped, judgment for his brother's rashness still present and accounted for.

"No," Dean snapped in denial. "Artery in my left arm," he corrected, like that was better, topped it off by running the two fingers of his right hand across the veins found in the inside of his left elbow.

"Thanks for the visuals," Sam drily bit out, needed no help whatsoever envisioning the almost instant and nearly certain fatal blood loss a cut across those veins would result in.

"You wanna hear the story or snap at me all day?" Dean volleyed back to which Sam sighed, leaned back in the kitchen chair and waved Dean to continue. "Like I said before I was so rudely interrupted, I started the incantation…after slicing my artery," he put in for Sam's sake, though his brother didn't look all that appreciative, "and then …I remember waking up, looking up at the ceiling of the warehouse."

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_Unless Heaven or Hell had redecorated, Dean suspected that he was right where he was before he did the incantation. Cursing, he slammed his fist against the cold cement floor of the warehouse he was lying on and let out a shout of frustration. He had thought for sure the spell would work, that he and Sam would be together, someplace good or someplace really bad. _

_Instead, he was alone, very alone._

_But surprisingly, he wasn't bleeding to death anymore. 'What the …' he thought as he rolled to the right, ran his fingers over the cut on his arm…the cut that was no longer there, was healed. _

"_This is not what Sam would want you to do," a familiar voice said, causing Dean's head to snap to the left. Cas came to a crouch at his side, leveled a look at him that was a cross between pity and anger. _

"_If you've got all the answers, than why can't you get Sam back for me!" Dean spat, climbing to his feet. When he swayed, Cas reached out, steadied him and lifted his hand as if he intended to touch Dean's forehead, heal him from the remaining weakness of the blood loss._

_Grabbing Cas' hand, forestalling the healing, Dean growled, "You wanna help me, get Sam out of Hell."_

"_Dean…" Cas nearly pleaded for Dean's mercy, for Dean to ask for something else. Something he could give him, some other way to show his friendship, his loyalty. _

"_But you can't do that, can you!" Dean hissed, releasing Cas' hand and stepping back, retreating from the angel. Watched as a myriad of emotions crossed over the angel's face before Cas lowly admitted, "If I could return your brother to you, I would Dean."_

_Dean gave a bitter smile, "Well, sorry, that doesn't do much for me."_

_Cas dropped his head in sad dejection. _

"_Just…just go," Dean miserably requested, needed to process his failure, to accept all over again where Sam was, that he couldn't get him out, not yet. _

"_If you ever need me…" Cas began to offer but Dean turned his back on him, was bending down, contemplating the spell book at the center of the pool of blood. _

_His eyes clamped shut, Dean didn't know if he was going to be strong enough to let go if Cas finished his offer. He wanted so badly to not be alone in the black hole of his grief, to have someone there who knew who he was down to his soul…and didn't hate him for it. _

_When the angel didn't finish his sentence, Dean couldn't hold back another moment, said, "Cas I… " and turned around, only to find he was truly alone._

_No Sam, no Cas, with a book that held spells that didn't work. _

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The bleakness of his brother's story, of the emotions he could sense Dean remembered all too well made it necessary for Sam to clear his throat before he could speak, "I owe Cas a lot more than I thought."

Dean's face darkened. "He was lying to me, Sam! To my face. Said he couldn't get you out of Hell when he already did."

Intently leaning over the table, Sam pointed out, "He saved your life, Dean! Maybe even your soul."

"That doesn't give him a free pass…" Dean shot back.

"But him saving me does?!" Sam incredulously dared. "Dean, you're such a friggin' hypocrite! His saving you means more to me than him saving me."

"No, it doesn't," Dean stubbornly denied but when Sam's lips turned up into an amused smile, he couldn't help but chuckle and run his hand through his hair. "Fine, we owe Cas…something. I'm just not sure what."

Understanding the hurt Cas had inflicted on his brother, Sam gently conceded, "I know," his eyes holding Dean's, wanting him to know that he was on his side, that Cas might have once been his friend, but Dean was his brother. There was no doubt where his loyalties firmly rested.

Watching his brother struggle with his feelings about Cas' dubious loyalty, Sam decided some distraction was in order. "So why'd you keep the book?" His question had Dean raising his head to meet his eyes across the table. "If the spell didn't work, maybe none of the rest of the spells worked. So why keep it? Why did you think a spell in there would work yesterday?"

Dean shrugged. "A lot of stuff in our jobs is hit or miss. Just because one spell might be a dud, didn't mean they all were."

But Sam caught his brother's distinction. "Wait. What do you mean _might_ be a dud? It didn't work…" then fear started cresting over him. "…did it?"  
Dean gave him a look like he was slow. "Hello, your soul stayed in Hell and mine didn't come for a visit, I think that's pretty clear my attempt didn't work."

"But you said…."

Realizing that Sam was going to be like a dog with a bone, Dean sighed, explained, "I started wondering if I had finished the spell, stated thinking that maybe Cas had interrupted it."

Sam paled, sat up straight. "Tell me you didn't try it again."

But to his relief, Dean shook his head. "No. Few months later soulless you showed up. I thought I didn't need the spell anymore." Hint of guilt there, that he had unknowingly let Sam's soul in Hell when maybe he had the way to free it the whole time.

"Good," was Sam's steely verdict on Dean's decision.

"Good?!" Dean repeated, outraged. "Sam, I might have gotten you free…"

"Or your own soul stuck in the Cage, Dean! Cas was right, that wasn't what I wanted!" Sam shouted back, felt the urge to knock the spell book against his brother's head in the hopes that something he said finally stuck.

Rolling his eyes at his brother's overdramatic reaction, Dean concluded, "Anyway, after finding out Cas had a healthy perchance of lying to me…to us, I thought the book might not be all hogwash, that there was a better than average chance the spell would have worked. That he stopped me because he thought you and your soul simply decided I wasn't cool enough to hang around with."

Sam's mouth tightened at his brother's deflection, at Dean's belief that he would choose to stay away from him. That him not being at his brother's side wasn't a clear sign that something wasn't right in Sam Winchester's world. "Cas stopped you because, regardless of all the crap he pulled, then and now, he cares about you Dean. Didn't want you dead or your soul in Hell."

Dean tilted his head, gave Sam a '_you really believe all that emo stuff you spout don't you'_ look. But he let Sam off the hook with a noncommittal, "Yeah, whatever you say, Sam. Anywho, good thing I kept the book."

"Yeah, it is," Sam agreed because he couldn't stand it if Dean was still writhing in agony, simply because he touched him.

"So we're good?" Dean timidly asked, didn't want this to be another something they didn't talk about, that one of them kept stewing about. Sam's warm small smile was answer enough. "Ok, then I'm showering and we're hitting up that historian Nathan told us about. Hopefully he knows something about those caves." Standing up, Dean grabbed his clothing out of his bag and entered the bathroom.

Sam bemusedly shook his head. Sometimes Dean had a one track mind, and right then, it was all about that cave, which seriously, he didn't even know if it fit into their current troubles or not. But that was all a part of their job, tracking down leads, going on hunches and instincts. Trusting each other's gut feelings.

'_Like Dean thinking that Bobby was still around?_' he mocked himself, couldn't help but admit that part of him wanted Dean to be right. Not that he wanted Bobby stuck between worlds but Dean needed a silver lining in all the crap thrown at them, even if it was a very tarnished silver lining.

But there was no silver lining happening and right then, they had the case to deal with. At least one good thing, no, two, had come out of their present job. Dean stopped expecting Bobby to make an appearance every time something fell off a shelf or the wind blew some pages around. And his brother's drinking had taken a backseat to their current predicament. Course the head injury and the meds Sam insisted Dean take played a part in that. Another plus was that Wade was a good man to have around to brow beat Dean into abstinence.

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Exiting the bathroom, ready for the day, Dean saw that Sam had retrieved the book from his bed, had on his concentrating-really-hard face as he turned another page. "Just because that one spell worked on the burns, it doesn't mean that the book holds all the answers."

Rubbing his eyes, Sam accepted, "Yeah, I know, just wish it did. I'll hit the shower now." And he stood up, unconsciously began handing the book to Dean, unmindful of how close he was to touching his brother, again. But before Sam could ensure that Dean's fingers didn't brush his, could plot his radius path around Dean, or even release his hold on the book, Dean took hold of the other end of the book.

A blue arch of energy zapped from one end of the book to the other. But it wasn't Dean who cried out in pain, but Sam. Dropping the book, Sam yanked his hand back, shook it, tried to ease the sting that was akin to the unfriendly jolt he got from an electrified fence he had grabbed onto when he was just a kid.

Dean cursed, dropped the book and took a worried step toward his brother, "Sam, are you alright?"

Sam waved his hand a few more seconds. "Yeah, was like a zap of electricity. Didn't you feel it?"

"No," Dean tightly replied, didn't like the conclusions he was making. Bending down he went to pick up the book.

"Careful!" Sam warned, earning him Dean's don't-be-such-a-scaredy-cat scowl.

But still, Dean tapped a tentative finger on the book and, when nothing zapped him, he picked it up. Raising his troubled eyes to Sam, he verbalized his theory, "It's not the book…and it wasn't you this time."

And then Dean promptly turned around, began shoving his clothing into his bag, which wasn't reason for Sam to suspect anything, until Dean zipped up the bag. Instantly knowing his brother's intentions, Sam quickly entreated, "Wait, Dean, we don't know that it was you. We didn't even touch."

Pulling his bag until his shoulder, Dean swung around to face Sam, backed up a step when he deemed Sam was too close to him. "Maybe it doesn't take touch anymore, maybe this is the next level, could lead up to me electrocuting you. And take it from me Sam, that's not something you wanna experience."

Raising his hands, Sam tried to slow down his brother's rash conclusions. "We don't know what just happened. Maybe there's something about the book when we both touched it."

"A _cursed_ book about _curses_, really Sam?!" Dean sarcastically drawled. "I shocked you. And I didn't even have to touch you to do it."

"But you're not shocking me now and we're standing close, Dean," Sam pointed out, knew that Dean had protesting his leave to protect him but Dean would walk out the door no matter what if he thought he had hurt him. '_Stupid double standards he thinks I don't notice!_' But Sam didn't want Dean leaving any more than his brother had wanted him to. And since physically restraining Dean was out since he had his own firestarter touch going on, he had to use his words. "Whatever is going on, it wants to separate us." Then suddenly Sam knew the angle he had to play, would use his brother's protective instincts against him. "Wants us to be on our own. You by yourself, me with no one to have my back."

And he watched with satisfaction as his brother's conviction to leave him faltered.

"When we don't stick together, we're vulnerable, Dean. I think that's a lesson we should know by heart by now." Sam felt his anxiety lessen at Dean's nod. "So we'll work around this handicap too." He waited for Dean's "yeah, ok," and for his brother to sit his bag back on the bureau before he spoke again. "Well, I still need to take a shower …" but he was reluctant to let Dean out of his sight.

"Yeah, you do 'cause you stink," Dean muttered.

It was a normal enough comeback that Sam automatically sallied, "Do not!"

Smirking at how easy it was to provoke Sam, Dean sidestepped a wide berth from Sam and claimed a seat on his bed. "Fine. Go beautify."

"And you're gonna stay right here…" Sam said, couldn't keep the trepidation from his tone.

Rolling his eyes, Dean drawled with a loud exhale, "Yes, Sam. I'll be here. Geez, this is starting to feel like you're first day of school."

And though Dean meant the recollection as a put down, it was all the proof Sam needed. Because, growing up, it was always Dean, not his father, that he counted on, that he knew would be there waiting for him when he walked out of the school. Had unwavering trust that his brother would not leave him high and dry when he needed him. Ever.

"'Kay. Just give me fifteen minutes," Sam said, stepping into the bathroom, was shutting the door when his brother renegotiated their contract.

"You got ten, Sam."

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Tbc

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Thanks for reading and for those lovely compliments on last chapter.

Have a great day! For those in the US, Happy Labor Day!

Cheryl W.


	14. Chapter 14

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 14

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Their ride to the historical society was uncommonly quiet, just the hum of the car's lone clear radio station in the background. But they did look to one another, pointedly when the other wasn't watching, as if checking to make sure the other wasn't in pain, wasn't suffering in silence.

It was Sam who spoke first. "You ever hear of anything like this before, a curse that uses touch to spread?"

"Yeah," Dean nonchalantly stated, answered Sam's baited breath expression with a smirk. "Book about it…The Chocolate touch."

"Of course you would think of the children's version of King Midas' touch."

"Can't eat gold," Dean rationalized with his usual spark of mischief.

"You'd try if someone dipped a pie in it," Sam dared.

Dean tilted his head as if in contemplation. "Probably."

Sam shook his head. Though he knew the light conversation was a tad forced, he didn't mind. "You think this will start happening to all the other brothers?" he asked a moment later.

Eyes remaining on the road, Dean replied, "Nathan split up all the brothers that worked together and Wade didn't call to report any other burn victims coming into the ER overnight."

"So just us so far," Sam morosely concluded.

Dean shot Sam an incredulously look. "Like this surprises you?"

"Not really," Sam snorted, gave Dean a small smile. Just because their lives seemed to be cursed on a regular rotation, that didn't mean he had to like it. That he couldn't hope just once that they would be clear of the fallout. "But Brendal and Josh, it happened to them, didn't it?" He saw Dean's jaw jump and he turned in his seat to face his brother. "But why them? Why not anyone else?."

"Josh was going to leave town, so that triggered it," Dean said with conviction.

"But why not zap him at the town limits like everyone else, why burn him? Why are they different…why are we different?" Because somehow Sam knew that was the key to ending this, to figuring out what was happening to them and why.

But Dean didn't answer right away. And it was only when Dean spoke that Sam suspected his brother's pause wasn't generated by contemplation but by a reluctance to voice his thoughts.

"I stayed," Dean announced, his eyes on the road, purposefully not on Sam, didn't want there to be some misinterpretation in his statement, judgment, vanity when there was absolutely none.

Sam stilled, struck by that declaration, at how significant it was. "So Josh…was he going to stay, change his mind? You'd think that would save him, not get him killed."

Chancing a glance to Sam, Dean asked, "You talked to Brendal again, did he say anything about Josh deciding not to leave town?"

Sam picked at the tear in his jean's knee like an ashamed ten year old, mumbled, "I didn't go back to the prison to fact check his story, Dean."

"Right," Dean returned, again without judgment. But some sick, needy part of him would have loved to see his brother go all Wookie on Brendal.

But something came back to Sam, had his head snapping up to meet Dean's on again off again eye contact. "But Brendal did say that, after he stabbed Josh, he thought his brother was going to forgive him."

"Yeah, like Josh was gonna let Brendal stabbing him slide," Dean sarcastically mocked.

But Sam could only stare at his brother's profile and think, '_You forgave me for a lot greater sins than that.'_

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Walking into the Cooper Flat's historical society office and taking stock of the frail elderly gentleman sitting at the only desk in the room, Dean said under his breath to his brother, "Nathan's right. I think this guy's got a few years on Death. He probably has to mash all his food."

Sam didn't give Dean the elbow in the gut he deserved, instead he gave a wide, friendly smile to the town's historian. "Hello." In response, the man simply nodded, seemingly suspicious of the reasons behind the two young men entering his quiet-as-a-tomb tribute to the past. "We're compiling a book about small town histories," Sam elaborated, hoped that garnered a better reaction from the man.

Standing up, the grey haired, bespectacled man raised his age spotted hands wide to indicate the historical remnants displayed around the room, in pictures, in display cases, in dusty books on shelves and framed maps. "Our story is all around you."

"You have a wonderful collection," Sam praised as he began to troll the edges of the room, looking at the items on display.

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's nice guy, I'm-interested-in-all-this-lame-crap-you-got-on-display con job. Giving his own glance at the rusted sign advertising a tire company that hadn't existing in fifty years, he cynically thought, '_It's just junk no one else wanted._' Because, in his life, if it wasn't useful, couldn't save his life, vanquish or at least piss off evil, it wasn't worth the car trunk space it took up.

Sam pointed to a picture, "Is this from ….."

But Dean cut across Sam's question. "We're more interested in the down and dirty, you know. Legends, murders, suicides…brotherly conflicts," he slid the last in like it was a scenario he came up with on the spot.

The historian's eyes narrowed and he scoffed, "Small town histories my left leg! You're here because of what happened between those two boys who were brothers."

Dean, however, didn't bat an eyelash at being caught out. "Yup. Anything like that happen before, brothers fighting…one catching fire," he snapped his fingers, "just like that?"

Shaking his finger at Dean, the elderly man speculated, "You're one of those tabloid writers, aren't you. Wanna put our town on the map alright, in the crazy section. Well, you can do it without my help. Now out!" He went so far as to grab Dean's arm, like he actually thought he had a chance of physically throwing the far younger, far buffer man out of his hallowed historical shrine.

Intent on intervening, Sam approached the twosome, was relieved to see, not anger in his brother's expression, but incredulousness as Dean looked at the arthritic hand curled around his bicep. Placating, Sam explained, "No sir, we're not here to disrespect your town. We actually want to make sure no one else gets hurt."

The historian's eyes lightened a bit, like he almost believed Sam. Turning his scrutiny from Sam back to Dean, he challenged the elder Winchester, "Is what he said true?"

"Yup," Dean briskly answered, caught Sam's bug eyed 'you gotta sell it better than that' look and nearly sighed. Focusing on the man that apparently Sam thought needed more convincing, he stated, "Something bad is happening in your town. Between brothers."

Sam was about to tone down Dean's statement, make it sound less crazy, rephrase it with less truth, a whole lot less. But the elderly resident of the town nodded his head before he could say a word and pointed to a picture on the wall. The Winchesters followed his line of sight, recognized the Tucker brothers in the black and white photo. "Happened back then too, didn't it?" the older man asked, but his sad tone told them he already knew the answer.

Tiredly, the man sank back into the spare chair in the room, eyed his two visitors with a new level of solidarity. "For a town that used to be named Okizu, there's not much of it sometimes."

"Much of what?" Sam and Dean asked in synch.

"Unity," the historian snippily retorted as if he thought they were being too rude to listen.

"Ok, you lost me. The town's named…oakzoo…" Dean attempted to repeat the man's word.

"You aren't from anywhere near here are you?" the man scoffed before he drew out the pronunciation of the town name, "Okizu. It's a Sioux Indian word. Means unity."

Dean exchanged an excited look with Sam. They had finally unearthing a valid lead! Old cultures were sources of all types of strong spells that lasted long after the conjurers had passed away. "The cave in the woods by the town limits, the Indians used that, didn't they?" Dean proposed, certain that his gut instincts were about to be confirmed.

"Don't know about that," the man said shortly, not sure why the short haired kid was suddenly jumping subjects. They were talking town happenings, brother hurting brother, not nature hikes.

Rooting for Dean's theory to pan out, Sam pressed the historian, "But you know the cave exists."

The man nodded. "Sure. Went in there as a kid but the opening is all overgrown nowadays, like the woods wanted to keep it a secret."

Not one to be discouraged, Sam took up another avenue of research. "Do you have any books on the Sioux tribe that was here, anything about their legends?"

"No. No books." Seeing the downcast expression on the two men's faces, the elderly town resident threw another tidbit into the mix, hoping it would help. "There was this kid, came in here one day, ranting that all the pictures on the wall were of thieves, that it was _his_ peoples' land."

Knowing a good lead when he heard it, Dean demanded, "You know the kid's name? Know where we can find him?"

"Heck no," the man grunted. "I threw the little punk out."

"Very P.C. of you," Dean mumbled, earning him a confused look from the historian and a 'dude why do you have to be so rude' look from Sam.

Sam, ever the mature one, turned to the historian and held out his hand. Shaking the elder man's once strong hand he said, "Thanks for your help, sir."

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Sitting in the stationary rental car, Sam held his phone up as Nathan's voice came through the phone's tiny speakers. "I'm pretty sure I know who he's talking about. The kid's name is Greg Strongeagle. Give me a minute while I look up his address."

"Strongeagle?" Dean echoed. "He's all about being Indian."

"Dean, it's his last name. What do you want him to do, change it?" Sam shot back, wasn't sure what had soured his brother's mood.

Dean shrugged. "Just saying it's a little on the nose."

"Like our last name isn't? We use guns, Winchesters, for a living," Sam pointed out.

"Do not! We use a Colt and Remingtons and …."

Sam was grateful for Nathan's interruption.

"Ok, found it. He's lives on …

"Let me guess, Running Coyote Way," Dean quipped, earning him a scowl from Sam and a stuttering, "No…not that I…" from Nathan.

"He's just screwing with you, Nathan. Go ahead," Sam prodded, wanted to get to the Indian kid even if Dean suddenly decided it was more fun to be a wiseacre than a hunter.

"West Railroad, number 389," Nathan supplied, tried not to take Dean's interference personally. He knew a lot was going on with the brothers, and nothing he wanted to be in the middle of by the sounds of Dean's flippancy and Sam's irked tone. "So you think he's the one cursing the town and you guys?"

"That's what we need to find out," Sam said. "Even if he's not, he can tell us more about the Indian people that settled this town."

"If you're looking for him to be a willing source of information, I gotta warn you, he's got quite the smart mouth," Nathan warned.

"Oh, I know the type. Intimately," Sam returned, pointedly looking to his brother, the king of smart mouth comebacks. Dean gave him a brassy, 'you know it' smirk. Then Sam ended his conversation with Nathan with a promise to call the deputy back if they found out anything relevant.

Tucking his phone in his pocket, Sam pensively studied his brother.

Dean fidgeted under the stare Sam was raining down on him for a full minute before he gave in and huffed out a "What?"

"You. What's up?" Sam prodded, knew when something dark was pinging around in his brother's head.

"You mean besides the awesome time we're having in this town…" Dean sarcastically drawled.

"This is a lead, a good one. Might even end up tying into your theory about your cave. I thought you'd be happy…" At Dean's sarcastic "really" expression, Sam amended, "Ok, not happy but at least boasting that it's starting to look like you were right."

Dean looked out the side window.

Sam didn't miss the tension straining his brother's features. "What is it?" he gently urged, needed to know the problem dragging Dean down before he could find a way to solve it.

"I need some coffee," Dean announced off topic. Turning over the car engine, he pulled onto the town's main throughway.

Dean avoiding answering him was so not a good sign in Sam's book. Knew Dean used that tactic whenever he thought the truth would be too much for his little brother to handle. "Dean, if you're putting together some more pieces about this case, good or bad, I want to hear it. I need to hear it."

Turning into the coffee shop's parking lot and cutting the engine, Dean put his hand on the door handle planning to get out without replying to Sam.

Sam instinctively grabbed for Dean, to stop his brother from leaving, to force him to not shut him out. He released his grip on Dean's arm the second Dean's hiss brought it home all over again that he couldn't touch Dean, not unless he wanted to hurt him. Cursing, Sam contritely said, "Dean, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking….."

Cutting off Sam's apology almost like he didn't hear it, like it wasn't needed, Dean quietly stated, "Indian curses are strong, Sam." His eyes didn't seek out Sam, stayed locked on the people milling around the coffee shop, having a normal, safe, uncursed life.

Sam stilled, didn't know where Dean was going with this. He felt his stomach tighten when his brother's eyes finally swung his way, when he detected his brother's fear and worry.

"Remember the housing development in Oklahoma that was built on land cursed by Indians. We didn't break that curse, Sam."

Sam didn't like the implications Dean was pointing to, liked even less the hopelessness creeping into his brother's tone. "We survived it, helped that family survive." Left unsaid the '_we can survive this too'_ speech, didn't think Dean was up for that right then.

"Sam, this curse has specifically targeted us. Has probably been around for hundreds of years, has killed who knows how many brothers," Dean said, suddenly knew in his gut that the three brother sets they had uncovered were not the only casualties to the curse. Couldn't be. '_Yeah and Sammy and I are lined up to be the next_,' he darkly reflected.

Holding Dean's gaze, Sam defied, "So what, you want to give up? Sit around in this town with our …."

"No!" Dean snapped before he more evenly continued, "No, that's not what I'm saying.."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I don't know," Dean shot back, shifting in his seat. "Just…it's gonna take a lot to get out from under this curse. Some Latin and a Sponge Bob mat ain't gonna cut it."

Sam couldn't help but smirk at Dean's reference to their unorthodox spell work, just like Dean had intended him to. "We could use a Dora the Explorer mat this time," he lightly joked back, relished the snort of laughter it garnered in Dean. Then Sam soberly continued, "Ok, so it's not going to be easy to undo. But we're pretty awesome at doing the impossible."

Dean gave his brother a surprised look. "Sam Winchester bragging about how awesome we are?! I like it," he announced with a smile.

Sam chuckled, "Learned it from my egomaniac brother."

"Aww, and here I thought your days of hero worshipping me were long over," Dean taunted.

Sam gave a scoffing, "Yeah right." Dean didn't have to know it was in objection to Dean's words because, as far as Sam was considered, he would always be in awe of his big brother. "Now where did you put the ointment?" he asked, turning around to scan the back seat of the sedan.

"I didn't put it anywhere. It's in the room where we left it," Dean replied, was instantly treated with his brother's disapproving scowl. "I wasn't going to haul that stuff around! It stinks. We'd have to ride around with the windows down."

Shifting back to his seat, Sam shot Dean a determined scowl. "Ok, then we'll go back to the room and you can put it on."

"Sam, it's nothing," Dean denied.

"Yeah, right. Then show it to me, where I touched you," Sam dared, knew Dean wanted to spare him more guilt, didn't want to show him the new damage his unthinking action had inflicted. But the truth was, the sight and the awful knowledge of the severity of the last burns Dean had borne courtesy of his touch was forever imprinted in his mind's eye. A physical testament of how badly he could hurt his own brother, could cause him pain like no one else ever could.

Refusing to engage in their usual brand of emotional tug of war, Dean announced, "I'm not leaving without getting my coffee, Sam." Putting actions to words, he got out of the car and headed for the coffee shop, smirked to himself when he heard a car door slam behind him and then looked to his right as his brother gained his side.

Dean entered the coffee shop first and held the door for Sam. But he shot a look over his shoulder when he thought his brother let out a sound. Only receiving Sam's closed mouthed smile in return, Dean wrote it off as nerves and proceeded to the counter to place his and Sam's coffee order.

Behind Dean, Sam flexed his hand. He had gotten quite a jolt from the coffee shop door that Dean had held open for him. A jolt that was amped higher than the first one he received in the motel room. It was as if it was gaining strength, gearing up to do what Dean feared. '_Electrocute me_.' But not wanting to chance Dean revisiting his 'we should separate' notion, he had decided to keep the newest little incident a secret.

While Dean dug out his cash, Sam grabbed the coffee cups off the counter. He handed Dean his after his brother had paid and his hands were free.

Their fingers touched in the pass off.

Dean flinched away from the contact, would have spilled coffee all over himself if the lid wasn't on as tightly as it was. Not meeting Sam's eyes, knowing that sorrowful look that would be there, Dean stalked off toward a table near the front windows.

Sam, clenching his jaw over the aggravated shout of frustration aching to burst out of him, trailed behind his brother. Claiming a chair directly opposite of Dean, Sam wanted to ask how badly his brother was burned. Opened his mouth to but when Dean slipped his right hand under the table so he couldn't see it, it told Sam more than he wanted to know. Leaning against the table, he began, "Dean we need…."

But he got no farther because Dean had mirrored his position, had leaned closer to him, arms on the table, in anticipation of having a low conversation that the other patrons couldn't hear. The blue arch of energy blazed around the table from Dean's left and right and quickly found its mark: Sam.

"Agh!" Sam cried out in pain, flinging himself back from the table, breaking the conduit between he and Dean that the energy had travelled. If anyone else in the coffee shop heard his outcry or watched the antics at the table by the window, the Winchesters weren't aware of it. Had only eyes for one another.

Snarling a curse, Dean stood up, walked toward the door, threw his untasted coffee in the trashcan as he slammed out the door. Dejectedly, Sam followed suit. Tossing his own untouched drink in the garbage, he joined his brother in the car.

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Dean was out of the car and in the motel room before Sam even got the passenger door open. And it didn't take Sam's years of Dean exposure to know his brother's intentions were to put as much space between them as quickly as he could. Dean was locked away in the bathroom when Sam entered their room.

"You alright? The ointment still working?" Sam called through the bathroom door.

"Yeah," Dean replied testily, shrugging out of his coat and throwing it across the bathroom's small expansion. Felt like ripping off his shirt instead of being civilized and unbuttoning it but his wardrobe couldn't take a loss like that, especially since they were in a town where him using a fake credit card wouldn't go over well with Chief Fox. Once free of his shirt, he submerged his burned fingers in the ointment,. He closed his eyes in relief a moment before he slathered it onto the burn on his right arm, felt both awe and fury as he watched his skin heal.

If his burns were so easily remedied, why couldn't he figure out how to stop shocking the crap out of his own brother?! And Sam, he wasn't going to see reason, was picking one heck of a time to be all 'we should stick together'. Because right now? Totally not the best time for that type of loyalty.

Knowing that Sam was worriedly hovering just outside the bathroom, Dean broadcast through the flimsy door, "I'm coming out. Just….just step back, Sam." Waited a beat before he asked, "You back?"

"Dean, we were in the car together," Sam huffed but his brother's growl of "Sam, step back from the door," had him relenting. Though he didn't like it, he could see the reasoning in Dean's request. '_And the risk isn't just about __him__ hurting __you__._' Fearing the reverse more than Dean hurting him, he backpedalled to the small kitchenette area, called out, "You can come out now."

Schooling his features to not show how badly all of this was hitting him, Dean slowly opened the door, saw that Sam, true to his word, was standing as far away from him as he could. "Sam, we need to talk about this," he began, using his calm, reasonable tone.

"No, Dean, we're not…"

But when Dean stepped out of the bathroom, as his foot touched the carpet, the same carpet Sam was standing on, an intensified blue arch of energy crackled with heat as it surged from Dean, singed the carpet along its trek and headed unerringly and unmercifully straight for Sam. "Sam, get off the carpet!" Dean shouted even as he propelled himself backwards, caught his elbow on the bathroom doorknob as he tumbled back onto the bathroom tile.

Reacting to Dean's order as much as to the sight of what was heading his way, Sam hopped up to sit on the kitchenette counter, made sure to pull his legs up. For those indeterminate length of seconds as the energy sought him out, he huddled there, praying that, since he wasn't touching anything Dean was, he was grounded.

He watched as the blue line of energy shot for the edge of the carpet, was primed to impact with the countertop…and then it puffed out, like someone had dumped water on it. Finally able to draw in a breath, Sam leaned his head back against the countertop. The energy was definitely building, and it wasn't just interested in giving him a love tap anymore.

Dean lay where he was on the bathroom floor, ears straining to hear the happenings in the other room even as he contemplated holding his hands over his ears so he wouldn't hear Sam's cry of pain. The total absence of sound was almost more than he could bear.

"Sam!" he shouted, scrambling to his knees, torn between going to the door to see his brother for himself and terrified that if he drew closer to Sam, it would invoke another incident. "Sam!"

"I'm alright," Sam's voice called out and Dean hung his head with utter relief. "I'm on top of the countertop. You good?"

"Dandy. I always wanted to be a new mutant," Dean jested, needed to pretend he was taking all this lightly while he secretly burrowed down behind his mental walls.

But Sam knew how to read between Dean's glibness, knew it meant Dean was trying to barricade himself against the emotional fallout, was attempting to shut him out in some macho need to appear invulnerable. It made Sam want to punch something. He settled for wrapping his hand around the edge of the countertop until the Formica seemed in jeopardy of cracking.

Dean shifted to rest his back against the tub, called out to Sam, "So the staying together idea just went up in smoke, almost literally."

Sam swallowed hard, he so didn't want to admit defeat. "Yeah," he hoarsely agreed a beat later because Winchesters faced bad news, did it nearly every day.

"Guess any conduit will do for my new freaky powers," Dean theorized, was thanking God Sam wasn't shocked in the car ride back to the motel.

Disheartened, Sam mumbled a concurrence, "Guess so."

Knowing it was no time to wallow in self pity, Dean rolled his shoulders and came to a stand. "I'm on tile in here, not carpet. Think you can step on the carpet now and get out of here?" Because Sam needed to get away from him, soon as he could.

"Only one way to find out," Sam drawled, wasn't surprised at his brother's "Be careful, Sammy" but couldn't help the dark chuckle that bubbled out of him. "Yeah, and how would I do that?"

"Find a way, jerk," Dean demanded.

Smirking, shaking his head and fondly thinking '_friggin' bossy big brothers',_ Sam tentatively slipped his left foot off the countertop, let it drop toward the carpet, gave the carpet a quick toe tap and when it wasn't deep fried at the contact, he settled his foot then the other onto the carpet. "I can walk on the carpet now," he reassured his brother, knew Dean wasn't drawing in breath until he knew he was OK.

"Thank God. Now get out of here, Sam!" Dean commanded, even as it sank in that he was doing what he never thought he ever would: was begging his little brother to leave his side. To go away and maybe not come back to him. Ever.

But Sam stood stock still, singed carpet under his feet and his brother hiding out in the bathroom like he truly was his own personal brand of pestilence. And for all the times he left Dean, for all the times they willingly split up, for all the times Dean left him, it was always about their choices, their decisions, their sometimes misplaced ideal that apart was the only way to protect each other. Today it was about someone else tearing them apart, telling them that they couldn't stay together, trying to prove that they didn't belong together.

Fury boiled in Sam, made him lash out and toss the chair against the refrigerator.

"Sam?!" Dean worriedly shouted, drawing closer to the door.

"Screw this! We're not just going to play along, walk away from each other," Sam growled, chest heaving and brain spinning, trying to find a solution, a way to not separate.

Recognizing the emotional edge Sam was teetering on, Dean calmly reasoned, "Sam, what other choice do we have? 'Sides, you were about due for a break from my company. Now you can eat at that veggie joint you were eying up on the way into town, can set up your clothing in your own room in that OCD manner without harassment, can listen to that emo crap music on the computer while you research. Sounds like a win-win for you, Sammy."

Each example that Dean painted cut deeper into Sam. Sure, yeah, Dean knew his likes, better than anyone. But Dean was forgetting about a truckload of things that he loved more than he ever would food, music or his own room. "What?!" he sputtered in outrage. "You really think I care about that crap more than us staying together?"

"Sam, I'm not saying…" Dean began to contradict.  
"Good!" Sam cut off Dean's words. "'Cause that would be so stupid of you to think that!"

"_Stupid. _Great. Now we're name calling," Dean muttered but his words reached Sam, had Sam exhaling and fighting to calm down, to say the right words instead of all the wrong ones.

"Dean, I just…" Sam paced, bit his lip. "It doesn't feel right, when we're not together. Not at all."

Dean's heart ached at his brother's forlorn tone. "Yeah, I know."

Sam nodded, though Dean couldn't see the gesture and then his head snapped up and his eyes brightened. "I'll check into the adjoining room."

"What?! No, Sam," Dean instantly protested. "Pick a motel on the other side …"

"…of the hemisphere?" Sam coldly finished his brother's suggestion. "Let me guess, we're better off apart, should go our own way, should stay away from each other for good?" he bitterly repeated words that were once offered to him.

The words cut Dean to the quick. He knew the words, had heard them before: they had come from his own mouth. And he found it wasn't great being on the receiving end of them, having them mercilessly thrown back at him, almost verbatim. Understood, with painful clarity, how badly they must have cut into Sam, how much it hurt when someone you cared about, someone you trusted, someone you _loved_ gave up on you, on your brotherhood. Not just in one instance, but forever. Like a door was being shut that would never be opened again, leaving you alone, lost, abandoned. He felt his eyes welling, was glad Sam couldn't see him right then. But then again, Sam deserved to know how sorry he was.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I didn't mean it like that. Not then and not now." Dean ached to step closer, to see Sam, to gather some clues on how to interpret the silence his statement was being greeted with. "I thought us splitting up would protect you, save you. It wasn't what I wanted, Sam."

"Sounded like it to me," Sam sorrowfully refuted. When Dean had ended that call, Sam remembered dropping his cellphone, having to pull the car over, choking on a sob as he sat in the ditch of a lonely highway. Knowing that as much as he thought he deserved it, he never believed the day would come that Dean would actually break his ties with him, would shut him out, forever. Would say goodbye and wholeheartedly mean it.

Feeling helpless to heal the past wounds he had inflicted on his own brother, Dean relented on the here and now. "We don't know that I won't shock you in the adjoining room."

Gleaming hope from Dean's statement, Sam smiled. "Couple minutes and we'll find out."

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TBC

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I was going to end the chapter when Sam was about to get shocked in the room but then I decided that would be cruel.

Thanks for reading and for keeping those words of encouragement coming. I love them!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	15. Chapter 15

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 15

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Though Dean ventured out of the bathroom, he couldn't bring himself to touch anything in the room, stood there by the end of his bed feeling like a little boy lost at the mall. Part of him knew he should be bolting for the car, getting as far away from Sam as he could. But the other part of him couldn't do that to his brother, didn't want to heap one more drop of hurt on his brother's heart. So he stayed where he was, waited until he heard the telltale sounds of someone approaching his room, coming to a stop at the room right beside his. But he didn't hear much after that, not until Sam spoke.

Inside his new motel room, Sam went directly to the door that connected the two motel rooms, declared, "Dean, I'm good. Not even a trace of static electricity," made sure his tone was a few decibels above normal just in case Dean hadn't abandoned his barricaded position in the bathroom. He was pleasantly surprised when Dean's voice didn't sound all that far away.

"Yeah, for now. Don't get too close to the door, Sam," Dean warned, honestly expected, with their luck, that he would go nuclear sooner or later and he didn't want Sam anywhere near the fallout.

Ignoring Dean's warning, Sam reached out and flicked the lock open on his side, was about to order Dean to do the same on his side, when his brother's freaked out, "Geez Sam! We're not opening the door!"

"Dean, it's about a conduit, right?" Sam calmly pacified, didn't want Dean getting all paranoid and bolting for the car. "If we don't touch the door at the same time, we'll be fine."

"How do we know you won't get BBQed if we …I don't know….look at each other," Dean tersely shot back, eyes on the door, making sure the handle didn't turn.

"What?! You going to go all _mandroid_ on me, sizzle me with your laser eyes?" Sam teased with a chuckle, remembered how hard it had been to keep a straight face when Ronald Reznick threw out that theory about the bank robber shapeshifter.

It was a ludicrous enough of a scenario to get a matching chuckle and a "Shut up" from Dean.

But when Sam didn't reply back, Dean worried that his brother had taken his offhanded words as truth. And the last thing he wanted was for Sam to stop talking. It was bad enough they couldn't share the same room. "Sam?"

Sam instantly tensed at the timid tone to his brother's voice. "Yeah."

"I regretted it," Dean hoarsely proclaimed, rubbing his hand nervously over his mouth before he continued. "Throwing away the amulet. It was a scummy thing to do, I just…."

'…_was hurt, felt betrayed by me, by what Heaven showed you about me and my version of good times,_' Sam silently finished his brother's statement. "I know why you did it, Dean, and I…I don't blame you. I was…."

"It's the past, Sam," Dean bluntly interrupted, didn't want Sam to feel guilted into apologizing, didn't want to dwell on what couldn't be changed.

Knowing that Dean was attempting to write off that chapter between them, that it might not be opened ever again, Sam couldn't pass up maybe his last opportunity to ease his brother's pain. When he spoke, his words came out in a rush, fearful that Dean would shut him down. "I got that girl to invite me to her family's Thanksgiving dinner using one of your pick up lines," he found it almost easier to begin his confession without having to mark his brother's expression. "I spent most of the dinner telling her dad how you could fix anything that went wrong in our car. And I hyperventilated on the bus to Stanford, nearly passed out, driver pulled over because he was afraid I was going to puke. This other guy… he helped me climb off the bus, told me to take it easy, that it would be ok…" he felt his throat close up, had to swallow a few time as he remembered the scene vividly.

"I called him your name, Dean. And he…he asked me who Dean was and I told him my big brother. He said, '_You're missing him already aren't you, kid?_'" Sam choked out, couldn't go on, didn't want Dean to think less of him for having nearly cried on some stranger's shoulder because he was so home sick for his big brother.

Sam's words were a revelation to Dean. And he knew Sam wasn't fabricating them to make him feel better, that there was enough water under the bridge of their brotherhood that they didn't ever offer false reassurances to one another anymore. Stepping closer to the door that separated them, Dean admitted, "I was an idiot for taking heaven's 'this is your life' at face value, Sam."

But Sam immediately reciprocated Dean's guilt. "And I was an idiot for cherishing those memories and for forgetting the other details." '_Like how you've never been far from my mind, Dean, even when we didn't talk for years_.'

Dean snorted. "Guess Bobby was right all this time, we're both idgits."

A bittersweet smile stole over Sam's lips. "And this surprises you?" he drawled sarcastically.

"No," Dean agreed with a quiet, forlorn tone that almost failed to travel through the door to Sam.

Sam ached for his brother's pain, knew that, as much as he was missing Bobby, Dean felt it more. Dean, who didn't let many people behind his barriers, who had so very few people to watch his back and fewer still who were brave enough to ream him out when he took foolish risks with his life. '_And now it's all down to just me, to reach him through his walls, to watch his back, to keep him from getting himself killed._' And Sam felt that weight, heavily.

Pushing down the well of grief, Dean backed up a few steps from the door, railed at himself to get his head on straight, start working the case. "So, who's going to go smoke the peace pipe with Strongeagle? 'Cause we can't do it together now."

His mind already turning over that thought, Sam suggested, "One of us can do some online researching. Thing is…I left the computer in your room." Tried not to think about how wrong it felt having to say "your room" instead of "our room".

Spying the laptop on the table, Dean scowled, "If you weren't such an online research geek, I would think you planned this."

"Rrriiiight?! And who surfed for Dick Roman newsbytes for a week straight, again?" Sam countered, had hated when Dean went into that funk. And yeah, he wasn't stupid, marked the similarities to his own obsession to track down Lilith and killing her, and they weren't pretty. It sure wasn't fun to helplessly watch someone you care about forsake everything, food, water, rest, to try and quench a ravenous thirst for blind revenge. Not to mention the abject loneliness of being shut out by that person.

Dean made no comment to Sam's direct hit about Dick but it did put Bobby even more predominately in his mind. Crossing the room over to the duffle bag Sam had forgotten to take in his earlier haste to book the adjoining room, Dean began digging into its depths until he located what had been MIA since they had left Garth's motel room: his EMF. He smiled grimly at his victory, at foiling another of Sammy's well-meaning manipulations to keep him from dwelling on Bobby possibly engaging in a spirit walkabout.

Now without baby brother's overprotective eyes watching his every move, Dean hesitated only a moment before he flicked on the EMF.

It promptly squawked and its indicator lights flashed with yellows and one solid red.

Still standing at the door, trying to outwait Dean's silence, Sam tensed at the sound that suddenly emanated from the adjacent room. "Dean, what is that? Is that the EMF?!"

Ignoring Sam's call, focusing on the telltale displays of lights that revealed that a spirit was there in the room with him, Dean let the gaining strength of the EMF signal guide him as he started forward, began meticulously scanning the room, hoping for a stronger signal. When he approached the room's east wall, the EMF's shriek intensified and all of its lights went red.

"Bobby?" Dean tentatively asked of the empty space along the wall. "You here, Bobby?"

Ear now pressed against the door, Sam felt a chill go through him as he heard Dean beckon for Bobby, just like he had in the brewery. "Dean, what's happening?!" he demanded, itched to barrel through the door and be at Dean's side, even had his hand on the door handle in preparation for that move. "Dean, answer me or I swear…"

"Hold your horses, Sam, I…" Dean was saying over his shoulder to his brother when something unseen slammed into his breastbone, tossed him backwards through the air.

Dean's cut off words and grunt of pain was all the incentive Sam needed to kick in the locked door. Did it just in time to see Dean's flying act come to an abrupt halt as his brother hit the far corner of the room and dropped bonelessly to the floor. "Dean!" Sam screamed, wasn't heartened when Dean didn't try to get up, didn't move at all.

And the friggin' EMF, it was still going wild.

Sam's eyes shot to Dean's weapon duffle bag on the bed, knew that to reach it he would have to cross the room's threshold, more importantly, he would have to step on the carpet. The carpet Dean was sprawled out on in the corner. And as much as Sam didn't care if he got hurt, he knew that he couldn't protect Dean if he was too busy being fried to a crisp.

Gritting his teeth, Sam turned around, raced to his own weapon cache, all the while trying to shut out the dark knowledge that he was leaving his unconscious brother defenseless. Frantic to get back to Dean, he had to stop himself from just taking the shotgun, instead he forced himself to take costly time to dig to the bag's bottom and retrieve more rocksalt filled cartridges. Then he was running for the door, barely came to a halt before blasting a rocksalt barrage into the empty east wall of Dean's room.

Dean regained consciousness to the all too familiar sound of gunfire. Finding himself on the floor, also not an uncommon waking experience, he used his hands to start to push himself to his feet, took advantage of the wall at his back to aid his rising. "No," he protested but his intended shout came out as a weak croak. Drawing in a breath, he managed, "Sam, no!"

Disregarding Dean's order, Sam emptied the 2nd round of rocksalt into the middle of the room and still the EMF didn't quit. Cursing, he cracked open the shotgun, dropped out the spent rounds and loaded two new cartridges.

"Sam, it could be Bobby!" Dean swiftly reminded, hoped Sam would stop with the shooting.

But instead of Dean's assumption dissuading Sam's retaliation, it only stoked it higher. His gut telling him that the spirit in the room was dead-set on hurting Dean, was making a beeline for his brother, Sam targeted the empty space eight feet in front of Dean, pulled the trigger, scowled as the rocksalt peppered the wall. Changing his aim to four feet in front of Dean, he unleashed another round of rocksalt.

Then, in the deafening echo of Sam's last blast from the shotgun, the EMF fell silent.

Whatever…whoever had been there in the room was gone.

Finally able to set his worried focus on Dean, Sam was encouraged by the sight of Dean on his feet, though he noticed his brother's step forward was more a drunken stumble. Every instinct told him to get to Dean fast before his brother ended up on the carpet again, but his rationale had him taking a back a step, widening the gap between them. "You alright?" he breathlessly asked, heart still thudding in his chest, one hand coiled around the shotgun and the other fisted at his side.

A little stunned, Dean blinked, shifted his gaze from the empty spot four feet in front of him still lingering with rocksalt dust to lance accusingly into his brother. "That might have been Bobby!"

If he expected remorse from Sam, there was none.

"So what if it was! He threw you across the room, Dean!" Sam thundered back, a little hurt that Dean didn't know he was trying to protect him!

But Dean instead set out to defend Bobby. "He probably didn't mean to. We don't know what it's like…"

"I don't care if he's a spirit or flesh and blood! Hurting you is crossing the line," Sam snarled, his emotions boiling over, felt that all-consuming fear zinging along his nerves: the fear of losing his brother, of someone taking him away from him again.

"Crossing the line?" Dean echoed, wasn't liking the feral look in Sam's eyes, was just starting to piece together how far Sam would take his self-assigned big brother protection duty . '_All the way_,' Dean grimly recognized. "That's my decision, Sam, not yours!"

Sam's jaw jumped and his reply was akin to reinforced steel, "No, no it's not."

"We're talking Bobby here, Sam!" Dean incredulously shot back.

Sam nodded, solemnly said "I know," because that fact changed nothing for him. But forced to see the mural of heartache on his brother' features, he sought to soften the blows he had sent his brother's way, soothingly pointed out, "But we don't know this was Bobby, Dean. Not for sure. Right?"

Dean rubbed a hand behind his neck, shrugged his shoulders, mumbled, "Guess not."

Voices and running feet from outside preempted Sam's reply, had the brothers snapping into survival mode.

"We gotta get out of here," Dean announced, beginning to throw clothing into his duffle bag.

"We don't have to run, Dean. Nathan and Chief Fox will cover for us," Sam reassured because running wasn't an option, not when he knew they couldn't run together.

Spinning around to face Sam, Dean challenged, "You sure about that? What if the Chief's had enough, huh? Decides to throw us into a squad car…**together.**"

Sam paled at that very possible development, knew that would get him dead, real fast.

"No, we can't take that chance," Dean insisted.

"Ok, you go and I'll stay here, talk the Chief down," Sam suggested, knew by the sour expression on Dean's face that his brother hated the idea. "Look, Dean, we can't leave town, right? So we gotta smooth things over with the cops and keep working the case. Just…take the car, go someplace for a few hours. I'll call you when the coast is clear and you can come home."

Dean couldn't help the smirk that pulled onto his lips at Sam's idea of home.

Seeing the expression, Sam tilted his head, asked, "What?"

But Dean smiled and shook his head. "Fine. I'll go do some hands-on research, you interview Strongeagle and we'll talk later. Hopefully by then we'll have some clue how some ancient guys who liked wearing loincloth and sporting Mohawks are screwing with all the brothers in town." Then Dean picked up his two bags and started heading for the door, expected to have to go through a gathered crowd of the motel occupants to get to the car. Sam's voice stopped him, had him turning around to face his brother.

"Dean," Sam called out, had to take a deep inhale to regulate his breathing when Dean turned to face him. "Don't go into the cave. Promise me you won't go into the cave."

Dean's smirk wasn't reassuring in the least nor was his offhanded _promise_. "Course not."

"Dean!" Sam exploded, wasn't going to let Dean patronize him while he went and got himself killed. "Promise me, really promise me or …I'll step into the room. Then you'll have to deal with my dead body or a seriously burned brother." To back up his threat, he took a step closer to the carpet in Dean's room, started to raise his other foot to do the same.

"Stop, Sam!" Dean commanded in his fiercest you-better-friggin'-listen-to-me tone because he knew, if Sam followed through on his threat, he wouldn't be able to move fast enough, wouldn't get out of the room in time. And by Sam's bold glare, his brother knew that, was counting on that. "You're a manipulative little girl, you know that."

But Sam merely smiled cockily at the insult. He had Dean right where he wanted him.

"Fine," Dean mumbled.

Sam cupped a hand around his ear, leaned forward, "Sorry, what? I didn't hear you."

Rolling his eyes at his brother's theatrics, Dean growled, "Fine. No spelunking for me. We good."

"You promise?" Sam hopefully prodded.

"Didn't I just say that," Dean snapped back but a siren ripping though the air had him giving his disgruntled agreement. "Yeah, yeah. I promise."

But Sam didn't relish his victory, instead he worriedly ordered, "Be careful, Dean,"

Meeting his little brother's gaze, Dean replied with his own command of, "You too Sammy," before he walked out of the motel room and left his scowling brother behind.

Turning back to his own room, Sam furiously knocked the vase off the bureau with a curse. Tossing the shotgun viciously onto the bed, he sank down to sit on the edge of the mattress, put his head into his hands. He feared that, even when he called Dean later, his brother wouldn't come back to the room, wouldn't let him come to him. That, after all they had done to stay together, it might have been all for nothing. That it still ended with them being apart, unable to be together.

And if Bobby had been the spirit in the room, was the catalyst that destroyed his brotherhood with Dean?! Sam had never thought he could hate Bobby…but then again, Bobby had never taken his brother away from him before.

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When Wade slammed the back door of the ambulance, he wasn't prepared to come face to face with Dean Winchester. "Wow, an in-person visit," he drawled even as he noticed the stark absence of Dean's usual 6'4" shadow.

"Think you can take the rest of the day off to help me?" Dean ventured, wasn't sure what he would do if the man turned him down flat.

"I'm just finishing up my shift, another half an hour and I'll be free. You can take a load off in the employee lounge," he beckoned as he started heading for the hospital's employee entrance. Shooting a look over his shoulder, he marked Dean's deliberate, stiff walk. Looking ahead again, he said, "While you're waiting for me, you can take your pain pills so you stop looking like you're gonna pass out. You might also want to decide if you're gonna tell me why Sam's not with you because, yeah, I'm gonna ask."

Dean scowled at Wade's back but dutifully followed the medic into the hospital hallway. It wasn't like he knew the question about Sam wasn't going to come up. But in truth, that wasn't the conversation he was dreading having with Wade. No, it was the one where he asked the other man to open old wounds by dusting off his climbing equipment. Equipment that had probably not been touched since his brother had died.

Sometimes Dean's job sucked, not only for him but for anyone crazy enough to try and lend him a hand.

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Police Chief Fox poked his finger in the chunk of wall missing from the motel room wall. "I can't decide if I'm relieved or not that this call turned out to be about you two." Facing Sam, he demanded, "Where's your brother?"

"Still in town," Sam hedged, now glad that Dean had bailed because he wasn't exactly getting a warm fuzzy vibe from the chief.

Jerking his head toward the door, the Chief watched as Nathan did his bidding and shut the door on the "crime scene" leaving just himself, Sam and Nathan to talk in private. "But Dean left the scene. After a shooting." The chief snorted and shook his head, mumbled a self-chastisement under his breath, "How did I ever believe for a second you two were law enforcement."

Nathan couldn't hold back a snicker at the chief's exasperation, enjoyed the fact that Dean and Sam were causing his boss as much heartburn as they were him.

Surveying the room again, reassessing the damage, the shotgun residuals along with something he couldn't place still polluting the air, he leveled a no-nonsense stare upon Sam and commanded, "Run it down for me."

"Sir?" Sam inquired in confusion.

In answer, the Chief swept his hands around the damaged room.

Sam fidgeted in place. "I don't think you want to…"

Stepping menacingly into Sam's personal space, the chief bristled, "You tell me or I'll put an APB out on your brother."

Left with no options, Sam bluntly stated, "Ghost."

The chief's eyes narrowed. "Come again?"

Feeling like the chief had asked for it, Sam told him the unvarnished truth. "They are spirits that don't move on when their corporal bodies do. One of them was in the room."

The chief couldn't help it, the kid's earnestness was just too much. He couldn't hold back the chuckle, almost enjoyed the tall kid's immediate tension. Turning to his deputy, the chief joked, "Well, what do you say Nathan? That's a new one. Next time Tommy Arnet gets drunk and starts shooting up his home, he should say a ghost made him do it."

But Nathan wasn't joining the chief in his mirth, instead he asked of Sam, "It still here?"

"No," Sam confidently replied, saw that the chief was giving Nathan the hairy eyeball.

"What? Now you're the believer?! Thought you were the eternal skeptic, wanted me to toss him and his brother in jail?" the chief directed at his suddenly turncoat deputy.

"Chief…I know it sounds crazy…but so does a curse and you believed in that," Nathan reasoned, closing the physical gap between him and his boss.

"I believe in not walking under ladders and not breaking mirrors," the chief sallied back but when he found himself the recipient of imploring looks from both his deputy and Sam, he exhaled. "In for a pinch, in for a pound. So now you're saying my town has a curse and ghosts?" he asked of their resident expert.

"Seems like it. But they might not be related," Sam assuaged.

"Oh and is that the good news?" the chief blustered, beginning to pace the room.

Sam opened his mouth to answer but Nathan reached out, grabbed Sam's arm and shook his head. He knew his boss's moods, knew when it was best to just shut up and let the older man think. To his relief, Sam took his advice and remained quiet, it wasn't long before the chief came back to stand in front of Sam.

"You know how to deal with curses, apparently ghosts too. Anything else?"

"Seriously?" Sam pressed waited for the chief's nod before he started counting off the list, "Vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, fairies…."

"Fairies," Nathan sputtered in humorous disbelief. "You can't be serious?!"

"They exist," Sam sourly told Nathan before he warned, "but don't mention them to Dean he's got a real hate for…"

"Excuse me for interrupting your Tinkerbell discussion but let's say I believe a ghost did this," and the chief kicked the wall peppered with shot, "to the room."

Sam colored in shame. "Actually, the ghost didn't do that, I did. Rocksalt rounds repel them."

"Right, course it does," the chief drawled with barely controlled frustration. "And what am I supposed to tell the owner of the motel?! That Casper had a wild party but he's refusing to pay for damages?!"

Sam shifted on his feet, artlessly confessed, "Dean and I usually don't hang around a town long enough to worry about coming up with a cover story for stuff like this."

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When Wade re-entered the employee lounge, he was surprised to find Dean slumped back on the couch, eyes closed. But his question or whether or not the other man was awake was quickly answered.

"I don't want to talk about Sam and me," Dean quietly opened with, didn't bother moving an inch, knew it was Wade who had entered the room just like he knew no one else was there with them.

Wade didn't have the heart to press the matter. "Ok." Crossing to his locker, he pulled out his street clothing, started pulling off his medic jacket. "You take your pain medicine?"

The question, the open concern, it reminded Dean too much of Sam, Sam who he had nearly killed that day, who he had to leave behind. Surging to his feet, he growled, "Back off, Wade. I'm not your brother. I don't need you to save me." And he stalked for the door, cursing himself for even contemplating dragging Wade farther into their screwed up job and even more screwed up lives. He yanked the door open but was startled to a stop at the bang of Wade savagely slamming his locker shut.

"Stop being so pissed that people care about you!" Wade shouted, stalked to Dean and slammed the lounge door, cutting off the other man's escape. Then he gave Dean a shove that sent the older man tripping back into the wall. He didn't give Dean room to evade him, stepped up to be toe to toe with him, refused to cower in the fear of rejection when the wellbeing of someone he cared about was at stake.

"Why can't you just let someone in?! Let people help you?" he demanded, didn't understand that self- destructive tendency in Dean any more than he did in Oliver. "Sam is begging you to let him help you but you …you shut him out, like Oliver shut me out. What's so wrong with showing your pain, with needing help? You help people all the time, why can't someone return the favor. And you care about people, you adore Sam, why can't he feel the same way about you? Why can't you just admit you and I are friends, accept that it's ok if you let your guard down, let people get close to you?!"

Dropping his eyes from Wade's, Dean huskily choked out, "Because every single person I ever let close…" here he raised his eyes, saw the startled look in Wade's expression, knew the man could detect how close he was to the edge, of going over the edge. "…they died, Wade. They all died."

Never expecting the strong willed older man to appear so emotionally spent, Wade took a step back, gave Dean some space. "You didn't lose Sam," he quietly reminded, didn't understand Dean's croak of dark laugher and his "Yeah, yeah I did," before the man pushed by him, stalked to the other side of the lounge, stood with his back to him. "Dean, I don't understand. Sam…" But the lounge door unexpectedly started opening up but Wade stopped it with a hand, shouted through the door, "I need a moment," to whoever was trying to use the lounge, heard some muttered cursing but they were fading away as the person left.

Turning back to Dean, Wade could almost detect the too heavy weight on his friend's shoulders. "I don't know what you've been through in your life, I don't even know what happened between you and Sam today but…

"I almost electrocuted him, Wade," Dean despairingly filled in the blanks for the medic.

Wade didn't bother wondering about the details. With all the weird crap happening, it won't fit into his lexicon of rational anyway. "But you didn't." Because if Sam was dead, Dean wouldn't be there with him right then, would be off self-destructing…like he almost had after he had lost Oliver. "That why you split up today?"

"That and a visit from an old friend…well, I think it was from our friend.."

Wade approached Dean, could sense that some of the tension was melting away now that he had Dean talking. "You don't know if he was truly your friend or you don't know if it was your friend visiting?"

"_Exactly_," Dean sarcastically jeered before turning to face Wade, got some satisfaction at the medic's confused look. "Long story that we don't have time for."

"Ok, that goes for another time," Wade easily shelved his curiosity, wanted to focus on the message he wanted to get across to Dean. "Now you asked for my help and …"

"Nah, it's ok," Dean dismissed Wade's offer, started to brush by the younger man, was more certain than ever that he didn't want to involve Wade, liked the guy too darn much. But Wade snagged his arm, foiled his escape a second time.

"I'm helping you, Dean," Wade firmly stated. At Dean's protesting look he continued, "Because you asked for my help, because I want to and because how I honor my brother is by helping others." He didn't say the rest, didn't think Dean would be up to handling the reality that he reminded him so badly of Oliver that it hurt, but in a good way, at least most times. Like now. "So what do you need me to do?"

Surprised by Wade's persistence on helping him, Dean felt even more low down, knew just how cruel his request was. "When I tell you, you might change your mind about helping me," he warned.

Sensing that Dean wasn't brushing off his help but was giving him a free pass to rescind his offer, Wade announced, "I don't know the type of friends you keep, but in my circle, we don't go back on our word."

Dean's eyes held Wade's for a few heartbeats. "Have you gone climbing since your brother's death?" Dean softly asked, understood the chasm of pain grief carved in a soul, knew how everything in life changed, how the things you once loved could turn into the things you hated most of all.

Blindsided by the question, Wade stammered, "What…why's that…." dawning hit him, right through the heart. "You want me to go into the cave," shock and dread leaking through his words.

But Dean needed to have his question answered first. "Have you, Wade?" he quietly prodded, needed to know how much pain his request was capable of inflicting on Wade.

Now it was Wade retreating, needing some space, turning his back on Dean.

It was all the answer Dean sought. Changing the nature of his request, he said, "If you still have your equipment, I'll need to borrow it."

His hands trembling at even the notion of a climbing rope in their grasp, Wade fisted them closed. "Thought you couldn't go into the cave, that it was past the town limits?"

"That's Sam's theory," Dean evaded Wade's question, implied that he didn't agree with Sam. But when Wade slowly turned around, lanced him with his best lie detector glare, he fought the urge to squirm.

"So if I called Sam up right now, asked his opinion on you going down into that cave…." Wade taunted, knew he had Dean when the other man stepped forward like he would physically stop him from reaching for his cell phone in his pocket. With a cocky smile, he drawled, "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Giving a frustrated huff, Dean grumbled, "What happened to you being willing to helping me? All I'm asking for is to use your equipment."

"So you can go do something that might get you killed," Wade angrily theorized.

"Story of my life," Dean glibly retorted.

Turning back to his locker, Wade started grabbing the rest of his clothing. "I'll need to replace some of my equipment so we have to make a pit stop at the sporting goods store."

"Hey, I'm not picky. Your old equipment will work fine for me," Dean stated, honestly didn't have the money to buy new equipment.

Closing his locker with civil pressure this time, Wade faced Dean. "Well, you aren't going to be doing any of the climbing." Then he was heading out the door, saying as he went, "And I don't use shoddy equipment."

And Wade's snobby declaration was so Sam-like that Dean had to fight down a sharp pang of regret that it wasn't going to be his brother at his side, tramping through the woods. Of course, Sam wouldn't be letting him tramp though the woods, especially if he knew his destination.

"What Sam doesn't know…." Dean muttered as he followed Wade out the door, hoped, unlike his own plan, Sam was playing it safe, that the chief hadn't locked him up and thrown away the key. Course, it wouldn't be the first time he ended up sweet talking his brother out of a jail cell…and he doubted it would be the last. Because really, he was the charming one, no matter what Sam said.

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TBC

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Thanks so much for reading and for the lovely compliments and encouragements on last chapter!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	16. Chapter 16

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 16

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"Ssssoooo, I think we're about used up all our free passes with Chief Fox. I'm not so sure he wouldn't have tossed me into a cell if Nathan hadn't been there defending me," Sam told his brother over the phone.

"Glad to see you've already gotten yourself a new partner," Dean replied, his tone teasing but the meaning behind the words far from lighthearted because, defending Sam?! That was his job.

Knowing how to read between his brother's lines, Sam snapped back, "He's not my partner, Dean." Bit his tongue from saying, '_You are, you idiot_,' because Dean shouldn't have to be told that, should know that.

"Whatever you say, Sammy," Dean patronized. Then, before Sam could make a denial, he bluntly jumped to the matter at hand. "That mean you're on your way to see Strongeagle?"

"I'm about five minutes away from his house. Where are you?" Sam tried to ask nonchalantly, though he couldn't fight the gut feeling that wherever Dean was, he wouldn't like it.

"Researching," Dean vaguely answered, cupped the phone tighter to his face, hoping that no betraying forest noises slipped through to his brother.

But Sam was always too perceptive when it came to him.

"Tell me you're not going into the cave?!" Sam commanded, his tone one to rival their father at his most pissed.

"I'm not going into the cave," Dean obediently parroted back.

Putting his brother's statement through his built in lie detector, Sam hissed, "You're already there, aren't you?! What part of 'promising me you won't go into the cave' was confusing to you?!" his shout ricocheting through his rental car's interior.

"Ah, I think all of it," Dean smart-mouthed back, just couldn't stand it when Sam got all bossy on him.

Gritting his teeth, Sam told himself that he knew this was Dean's standard reaction to his worry, that Dean pushed him away, especially when he was hurting…or when Dean was about to go off and do something he deemed too dangerous for his little brother to do with him. That thought, along with his worry that his fighting with Dean was putting a bull's-eye on his brother, chilled him to the bone, made his anger take a backseat to his fear. "You ok? No trees falling, earth crumbling, flood or fire coming for you?"

Surveying the deceptively serene woods, Dean answered his brother's concern truthfully. "Good news is, apparently we are free to get as pissed at each other as we want to now without an anvil falling on our heads."

"Great," Sam grumbled, not feeling the desire to rejoice about that particular reprieve because at least that part of the town curse had meant they had to talk things out, proved to him that they wouldn't give up on each other without one heck of a fierce fight. Now neither of those things seemed true. "So is that why you're jonsing to dive into the cave, see if crossing the town limits will kill you? You wanna get away from me that badly?" unmistakable hurt carrying in his last question.

And Dean remembered that tone, had heard it from his brother before: in the convenience store after he got Sam out of the mental hospital. His brother's "I woke up and you weren't there" bore the same crushing level of heartbreak. "Sam, chill. I promised you I wouldn't go into the cave and I'm not. Wade's doing the spelunking for us." Hoped Sam caught the "us" not "me" of his statement, that Sam recognized it meant they were still a team, that even when they couldn't work a case side by side, that didn't change their dynamics. Who they were, would always be to each other.

Sam hadn't missed the "us" reference Dean had made, hoped it meant what he needed it to. "So you're not going into the cave?" he nervously pressed, couldn't take things on trust, not without more to back it up.

"I'm not going into the cave," Dean solemnly declared, gave a look to Wade as the other man slid on his climbing harness. "Wade's getting suited up right now. He'll go down, see what's in the cave, take some pictures."

Sam hesitated, didn't want to do anything to change his brother's mind but found he didn't feel great about Wade venturing into the cave either. "Dean, we don't know what's down there or what we're really dealing with. Curses, dark alters….."

"Ghosts," Dean supplied, heard his brother draw in a surprised breath at his addition.

"Does that mean you don't think it was Bobby in the motel room?" Sam carefully asked, didn't want to push Dean, not about this.

Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth. "I don't know what to think, Sam."

Sam's heart clenched at his brother's lost tone. "Ok," he soothingly reassured. "We'll just work things out as we go. But Dean, the cave could be dangerous, even for Wade."

Meeting Wade's determined gaze, Dean darkly said, "He knows. I'm not going to send him down there unarmed."

And Sam was tenderhearted enough to feel guilty that he was willing to risk Wade's life but not his brother's. "Thank him for me." He hoped that Wade would know all that he was thanking him for: for not letting Dean go down there, for not letting him lose his brother.

"Sure, I'll send him a box of chocolates and sign your name," Dean sallied back, didn't want to dwell on Sam's gratitude or the danger he was about to put Wade in.

Sam smirked. Yup, that was his brother for him. "Remember it's Sammy with a 'y'," he joked back.

"Aaww, here I thought it was Sammy with an 'i' with a little heart above it," Dean taunted, enjoyed his brother's chuckled "jerk" that came back to him. Then he sobered, gave a warning of his own. "You should be careful with Strongeagle, Sam. We don't know that he's not the puppet master behind all this."

"Yeah, I thought about that. I won't take any chances," Sam vowed, prayed that Dean kept his promise and did the same as he ended the call.

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The picture Sam had envisioned in his head of Greg Strongeagle was not anything like the mid twenty year old, crew cut, sharp suit wearing man who opened the door to his knock. It was only the other man's skin tone and dark hair that gave him hope that he wasn't at the wrong house. "Greg Strongeagle?" he inquired in his best FBI agent tone.

"Whatever government agency you're with, you need to speak with my lawyer. I'm within my constitutional rights to start that petition," Mr. Strongeagle tersely volleyed back, clearly ready to do verbal battle if it came to that.

Taken off guard by the man's wrong assumption, Sam tilted his head. "Ah, no. I'm not here about a petition."

"Great. Now go do your survey with someone else," Strongeagle snapped and started to close the door in his visitor's face.

Quickly jutting his hand out, Sam stopped the door's closure, was suddenly taking Nathan's warning about Strongeagle's uncooperativeness with more weight. Meeting the young Indian's eyes, he stated, "I need to talk to you about the history of your people in this town."

Opening the door but coming to stand in the doorway to ensure his visitor didn't take his actions as an invitation to enter, Strongeagle indignantly sneered, "_My people_?"

Ashamed at himself for playing the race card, Sam backtracked, "I was told you might have information about the Indians who lived in this town."

Smugly leaning against his door frame, Strongeagle demanded, "Which tribe?" like it was a quiz he knew his visitor would fail. And when he did, that would give him all the incentive he needed to discount the guy's superficial interest in his heritage.

At the other man's goading question, Sam cursed himself for not doing his due diligence, for not putting in some research time before blindly knocking on a source of information's door. It totally spoke of how rattled he was after the morning's events. '_Get it together_! _Stop worrying about the crap going on between you and Dean and start solving the case!'_ he furiously chided himself. So, methodically stowing away little brother Sammy Winchester and letting hunter Sam Winchester take over, he opted, sans facts, to go for bluntness. "The tribe that put a curse on this town, specifically on brothers in this town," he countered with traces of accusation and steel in his tone.

Watching Strongeagle's eyes narrow, Sam knew that he had definitely hit a nerve with the other man. But whether it was in a good way, that had yet to be determined.

Not one to welcome visitors into his home, Greg Strongeagle found the strange urge to do so now almost as startling as having this guy show up out of the blue and start talk about his Indian tribe and curses. Suddenly his grandfather's foolish prediction two months ago, that someone would come to him and seek to bring unity back to the land of their forefathers, didn't seem so crazy.

To Sam's relief, the Indian stepped back from the doorway, turned around and walk deeper into his house. Accepting the non-verbalized invitation, Sam stepped through the open door, closing it in his wake. "I'm agent Sam Morris with the FBI," he announced, felt only a sliver of shame at betraying the Chief's order for him and Dean to not go around still impersonating the FBI in his town. '_The Chief clearly has no idea what lines I'll cross when it comes to protecting my brother and safeguarding the relationship we have_.' Because breaking a promise to someone that wasn't Dean, wholly acceptable.

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Dean gave a testing tug on the climbing rope coiled around the largest tree near the opening of the cave. Assured that it was locked in place, he bent down, began pulling items out of his duffle bag. But he couldn't fight the wrongness of sending Wade into danger. He would never forget the feeling in his gut when they had gone after the Shtriga, had to use the ten year old Michael as bait. That had sucked, badly, but at least he and Sam were there, close enough to rush in and protect the kid. But this, today, he would be close, yes, but if Wade got in trouble, sure, he could drop down into the cave. That didn't mean he would do anything helpful for Wade once he was down there, except maybe keel over dead. '_You got any better plans, Dean? No? Then shut up and do your job_,' he ordered himself but caustically sneered back, '_Don't you mean have __Wade__ do your job?_'

Clipping the climbing rope to his harness' bottom clasp, Wade wasn't prepared to look up and have a shotgun shoved toward his hands. Holding up those same hands, he exclaimed, "Whoa, no. Guns aren't my thing."

Dean grabbed Wade's hand, yanked it up and slapped the shotgun onto the other man's palm. "Well, today they are."

But Wade stubbornly shook his head. "No. I save people. That's my gig. I don't take lives."

"No problem, because whoever you find down there," and Dean pointed to the opening in the ground ten yards away, "… they're already dead."

"Are you trying to scare the crap out of me? Make me back out?" Wade accused, even as he took a firm grip on the shotgun, jerked it out of Dean's hold and stuffed it in his backpack. Then he started to head for the cave.

Afraid that Wade wasn't taking any of this seriously, Dean latched onto Wade's arm and yanked the man around to face him. "No, I'm trying to keep you alive," he steely snapped. "This isn't the time for you to be a bleeding heart. If I let you do this, you have to accept the risks, that what's down there might try and kill you."

"_Let_ me do it?! I'm the only one that can do it," Wade challenged with a bitter chuckle. But he knew he had underestimated his leverage when Dean's jaw jumped and his eyes darkened dangerously.

"Forget it," Dean growled, giving Wade a shove back as he snatched the backpack from the other man's grip.

Not trusting the idiot to not go into the cave himself, Wade relented, "Fine. I see something move down there, I'll blast it with buckshot." Felt relieved when Dean stopped, didn't bend down for the rope, wasn't sure if it was premature relief when Winchester turned around, leveled him with a soul searching look. "I'll kill it, Ok," Wade elaborated, though part of him recoiled at the notion of shooting a person…alive or dead.

"Rocksalt," Dean said, couldn't hold back an amused smirk at Wade's confused, "What?" "Shotgun's filled with rocksalt, not bullets. It repels ghosts, doesn't kill them," Dean explained.

"So now _you're_ the pacifist?" Wade taunted even as he couldn't believe that he was suddenly mad that Dean wasn't giving him a lethal weapon. Couldn't help but wonder how many more changes his chance meeting with Dean Winchester would induce in his life?! So far he had become a believer in curses, wasn't discounting Dean's notion that a ghost might be spelunking with him, and now was complaining that the weapon he had been given couldn't kill. '_What's next, me signing up for the NRA?!_'

Dean snorted at the very idea of him being a peace loving hippie. "Ghosts aren't that easy to kill but rocksalt hurts them." Going back to his bag, he pulled out a salt canister and tossed it to Wade. "And they can't cross over a salt line. Course that doesn't mean they can't figure out a way to blow the salt away."

"So, I could come face to face with a murderous ghost and you're giving me a gun that's most likely just going to tick it off and only a high blood pressure condiment to ward it off?" Wade incredulously recapped.

Dean smiled. "And you thought my job was all glamour."

"No, I think your job's a death wish," Wade charged but catching the flickering hurt in Dean's eyes, he sighed in bitter understanding. "But it's about saving lives, isn't it? Everything you do, all that you risk, you and Sam, it's about saving others…not yourselves."

Dean shrugged, tried to make it seem like he accepted that harsh reality with ease. "Family business. Goes back generations," he stated, though he was still coming to terms with the whole Campbell legacy. Most days it felt more curse than birthright.

"So you have other family members that hunt?" Wade inquired, wondered if he had misinterpreted Dean's early words about it being just him and Sam in the world.

"Not anymore," Dean announced, burying the ache of that truth by bluntly clarifying, "They are all dead."

Wade could tell by the stoniness of Dean's tone that cancer hadn't been the cause of his family's demise. Hunting was. "And you can't quit the life?"

Dean shrugged, gave a smile that reflected only pain. "Tried. Sam went to college after high school and about 2 years ago, I tried to do the white picket fence thing. It didn't take."

"Ever try to quit at the same time?" Wade asked, could see by Dean's raised eyebrows that that occurrence had never happened. "Seems to me that, if you two put your heads together to do something, it happens."

"There's a lot on the line right now, more than you know or want to know. We can't quit," remembered telling Frank the same thing, that he couldn't give up the fight if it meant leaving Sam to fight alone.

"Can't or won't?" Wade quietly inquired, had caught a tired reluctance in Dean's words.

But Dean knew that it wasn't just for Sam's sake that he kept plodding on, saving strangers. "I have a lot of sins to pay for."

Wade swallowed down the lump in his throat at Dean's declaration. He understood that motivation, better than most, after all, he put on his medic jacket every day to atone for his own sins. "Ok, so besides pissing off a ghost, what else should I spend my time in the cave doing?"

"Looking for an altar," Dean said.

"Like an altar, _altar?_ Something people bow down to and worship?" Wade dubiously asked, though he knew he shouldn't be surprised by much anymore when it came to the Winchesters.

"Yup," Dean replied. "And maybe there will be symbols on the walls or something that seems Indian in origin."

"So in other words, you have no clue what you're hoping I'll find," Wade mockingly realized.

"What? No, I know," Dean denied without an ounce of believable conviction.

"Sssure, you know," Wade drawled as he shook his head with incredulity at the places his newest friendship was taking him. Then he started heading toward the cave opening, spun around when he sensed movement behind him. "Whoa!" he growled, putting a hand on Dean's chest to stop the other man's forward motion. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Edge of the cave," Dean matter-of-factly answered.

"No. No!" Wade empathically forbade before grabbing Dean's arm and steering him back from the opening. Manhandling Dean fifteen yards away, he shoved Dean down onto a rock, unknowingly choosing the same rock that Dean had pulled Sam back to after his near fatal fall into the cave. "You're staying here or the deal's off."

"My gosh, you're pushier than Sam," Dean groused, lancing a sullen look up to Wade.

But Wade pulled on a cocksure smile, nearly purred out, "Aaawwww, I'll take that as a compliment." He reveled in Dean's eye roll a moment before he put on his professional take charge manner. "Ok, so here's me calling you," he announced as he punched in Dean's speed dial, waited until Dean pulled out his own phone and answered the call before he tested, "Check? Check?" Satisfied with the echo of his voice that he could hear coming from Dean's phone, Wade slid his phone in the holder attached to his harness strap around his waist. "Ok, so I'll do a running commentary of what I see and if I stumble onto something interesting, you let me know and I'll check it out, snap some pictures for your photo album."

His brow furrowing in worry, Dean ordered, "Be careful and don't hesitate to shoot…."

Wade raised the two fingers of his right hand. "On my honor as a boy scout, I promise to shoot and ask questions later." Returned Dean's reprimanding glare with a smirk before he went to the edge of the cave opening, dropped a glow stick into the depths to light his way. Looking back to Dean, he was glad that Dean was being a good boy and hadn't moved from the rock. But even from the new distance that separated them, he could see the tension in the older man's frame, felt the desire to try and ease some of it. "Dean, I'll be fine," he vowed.

Dean nodded but there was a vulnerable edge to his voice when he spoke. "Make sure you are. And Wade, thank you…for doing this. I know…I know it's not easy for you."

Not used to people recognizing his pain, so skilled at putting up a wall so people didn't see his pain, Wade felt a little naked under Dean's gaze, at his friend's sympathy. "Oliver wouldn't like that I gave up climbing. Not sure how he'd feel about me taking it up so I could have a murderous ghost encounter…." he quirked.

"He'd kick your butt…right after he killed me," Dean knowingly concluded.

"And you know this how?" Wade wryly prodded.

"It's what I would do to someone who put Sam in danger," Dean returned with a bittersweet smile.

Wade chuckled. "Since you're a lot like Oliver, you're probably right." Positioning himself on the edge of the cave, he looked behind him at the expansion below, took his ropes firmly in hand before shooting Dean a wide grin. "But Oliver was also the one who taught me how exhilarating it was to push the edge of what was safe, to beat the odds, to take on nature and win. To not let fear hold me back. Same things you taught Sam, right?" Then, without another word, Wade dropped down into the cave, and out of Dean's view.

And it took every ounce of willpower Dean owned to not race to the edge, to not see Wade safely reach the cave's floor, because Wade was right, he had taught Sam all that. '_And look where that's gotten him?!' _he thought with remorse, prayed he wasn't leading Wade down that same doomed path.

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As Sam followed Strongeagle into his home, he was surprised to find the rooms airy, very modern and sparsely decorated.

Shooting a look over his shoulder, noting his visitor's expression as he took in his home, Strongeagle taunted, "Disappointed I don't have scalps on the walls?"

"Ah…no. No. It's just…" Sam stammered, hated that the man had him on the ropes again.

Nodding to a chair in the spacious living room, Strongeagle claimed a chair diagonal from it, waited until his tall guest took a seat before he mocked, "What? You think I should be sporting a Mohawk, an animal pelt and carrying a hatchet? I don't see you running around wearing a Pilgrim's hat and pointy shoes with buckles to honor your culture."

At that, Sam couldn't help but smile, fondly admitted, "My brother would like you."

"Fine, have him come talk to me," Stongeagle instantly volleyed back, his suggestion only sharpening Sam's desire for his brother to be there with him.

Not addressing Strongeagle's counsel, Sam civilly said, "Mr. Strongeagle…."

"Chief," the other man interrupted as he sat back in his chair, crossed his legs like he was in a business meeting where he knew he had all the control.

"Huh?"

After a humorless, tight lipped smile, the Indian corrected, "It's Chief Stongeagle to you."

Not expecting Strongeagle to be this much of a jerk, Sam cleared his throat, coached himself that he needed to know what the guy knew, that his life and Dean's were on the line, not to mention the other brothers in town. He could eat crow for that, couldn't he? "Chief Strongeagle, I …" But the Indian's abrupt chuckle told him he had been had, big time. Scowling, he lanced the younger man with a killer glare.

Still chuckling, Strongeagle said, "You're more uptight than the geezer at the historical society that sicked you on me."

His nerves on their way to breaking way before he knocked on Strongeagle's door, Sam felt dangerously close to reaching across the space that separated them and wrapping his fingers around the man's neck. But the ding of the doorbell interrupted that fantasy. And on any other case, Sam would hazard it was Dean showing up to join his "FBI Partner". It did his level of frustration no favors that that wasn't possible this time around.

"What is this, grand central station?!" Strongeagle grumbled as he surged out of the chair and stalked for the door, ripping it open. Only to find another law enforcement official darkening his doorway.

"Hey Greg, it's been a while," Nathan greeted with false warmth.

"And we're on first name basis since when?" Greg bit out.

"Oh, I say since I found you wearing only buckskin and war paint setting up a bonfire in the middle of town two years ago and I didn't arrest you for the ten laws you were breaking," Nathan drawled with a countrified smile as he brushed past "Greg" and entered the other man's home. Saw Sam standing a few yards back from the doorway. "So you've met the investigative reporter."

Sam cringed at the conflicting stories he and Nathan were telling Strongeagle. If he thought the man was going to be hard to get information from before, now it was going to be nearly impossible. Silently he cursed Nathan, hoped the deputy correctly interpreted his death glare. It infuriated him more when Nathan's dopey smile only intensified, like things were going as planned.

Facing off with his two unwanted guests, Greg accused, "He said he was an FBI agent."

Nathan's smile turned amused. "Yeah and he probably even showed you a badge to prove it. But he's not." Then facing Sam, Nathan's Mr. Congeniality act was instantly squashed under his angry accusation, "You have some nerve ditching me. You heard the chief. I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight."

Not enjoying being a third wheel in his own home, Strongeagle, stepping between the two men that suddenly seemed more combatants than comrades, snarled, "Tell me why I shouldn't kick you both out of my home right now."

Giving Sam an unhappy '_we're not done'_ look, Nathan met Greg's superheated scowl and calmly stated, "Because at every annual town meeting and every Thanksgiving parade you protest, you're just hoping that someone will do what this guy _wants _to do."

Caught off guard, Greg couldn't help but ask, "And what's that?"

"Listen to you ramble on about your heritage," Nathan replied, openly holding Strongeagle's eyes without guile or hidden agendas. "And what's more, he'll actually _believe_ the legends and myths you tell him. You'll never find a more willing audience than him, trust me."

Sam held his breath, hoped Nathan's play was going to work. Felt hope flare when Strongeagle slammed his front door shut but doubted that optimism when the other man disappeared into another room of his house without a word. "Nathan, what the …" Sam hissed, broke off as Strongeagle returned, drinks in hand and nodded his head for them to follow him back to the living room.

The smug smile that Nathan shot to Sam was so Dean-like that Sam couldn't help but shake his head in wonder as he trailed behind the deputy. Guess it was actually good news that Nathan had barged into his interview. Course he wasn't going to tell the other man that.

When all three men had claimed seats in the living room, Greg spoke, answered the question he had posed to Sam, "The tribe that settled this town was Sioux."

"Your tribe?" Sam carefully asked, didn't want to offend the other man again now that they seemed to be on better terms.

"Yes. But my family, we don't have the bloodline of chiefs," Greg admitted with a wholly unrepentant smile to Sam. "We are shamans."

"Any reason someone in the tribe would curse the town?" Nathan asked, knew that motive was usually point one in any investigation.

"Curse?" Strongeagle drew out, as if testing that the deputy truly meant to use that word.

"People…_brothers_ are dying and fighting among themselves for no explainable reasons," Sam allowed, Strongeagle's shaman background giving him more hope that the Indian played a part in what was happening to the town, to him and Dean. '_And if he's the one behind it_…..' even Nathan wouldn't be able to prevent him from stopping Strongeagle, breaking the Indian's curse, any way he had to.

Narrowing his eyes, Strongeagle challenged of his conman guest, "Who are you?"

Abandoning his lies, Sam revealed, an edge of dangerous threat to his tone, "I'm a hunter. My brother and I hunt down the supernatural and stop anyone who abuses mythical power. We've dealt with curses, ghosts…."

"Fairies," Nathan interjected with a taunting smirk, laughed out loud at the dirty look Sam shot to him. "Sorry, couldn't help myself."

But Greg wasn't laughing, had an intense set to his sharp features as he studied Sam, read the lethalness in the man's eyes. Yet there was more to the man, just buried under the surface of what others could see. "You're more than a hunter. You're …" Strongeagle stopped, looked into the man's soul like all the children of the shaman were taught to do. "I don't know how to explain it. My grandfather…he said someone would come to me, someone that would unify our ancestors. But he said that someone would be old…I thought he was wrong about it all but….you, you have the oldest soul I've ever sensed." He tilted his head as something else emerged from the soul he could see in his mind's eye. "And you have bared the greatest of pain."

Sam wrapped his hand around the armrest of the chair, fought to quiet the memories of Hell that the Indian's inference stirred to the surface. "I've been through some stuff in my life," he hoarsely stated, hoped that he didn't have to say more on the topic. He could already feel Nathan's eyes on him, wondering, worried.

An expression of dawning comprehension emerged on Strongeagle's face, as if he had a complete picture now to look upon. "Because of your brother," he concluded confidently, could see now why the old spirits were stirred.

"**No,** because of my bad choices," Sam indignantly corrected, would not let this stranger lay blame at Dean's feet for his own failings and their subsequent cost. "And what do you know about my brother?" he darkly challenged, didn't like the Indian digging around his head but the thought that the Indian might be traipsing around in Dean's he liked even less, caused his protective instincts to flare to the surface. "What do you know about Dean?!" he demanded, only Nathan's hand on his arm stopping him from surging from his chair, making Strongeagle answer him right then.

But Strongeagle seemed oblivious to the danger he was in, drawled out with wonder, "The bond with your brother, it's strong but …."

Fear singed through Sam at the implications of the Indian's hesitation. "But what?"

Recognizing for the first time that his interpretations could hurt the tall man, Strongeagle debated if he should say more. It was none of his business, any of it. It was why he cut himself off from the world, so he didn't meddle where he shouldn't, so he didn't see souls that had the right to their privacy. "Nothing, I'm just….feeding off my grandfather's lunacy," he recanted, gave a weak, apologetic smile to his audience and went to stand up. But Sam was suddenly there, had a death grip on his arm, and unknowingly locked in their connection and caused Strongeagle to see more than the other man would ever want him to: Agony, Fire, Despair, Grief, Fear, Hope, Determination and Love. And somehow at the center of everything that the other man's soul was, was another soul, a kindred soul.

When Strongeagle unexpectedly slumped in his grip, Sam cursed and eased the other man back into his chair, stepped back so Nathan could tend to the Indian. But Strongeagle pushed Nathan's hands away, refused to answer the deputy's questioning if he was alright, fought instead to see Sam around Nathan's hovering figure. "Your bond with your brother, it's what you have faith in the most. But he abandoned you and you lost your way… …" watched as the taller man's face drained of color. "Nearly lost your soul."

Sam knew that Strongeagle couldn't know that, and yet he did. Quietly, brokenly he clarified, "Dean didn't mean to abandon me…he died," saw Nathan's head snap around to face him. But he couldn't tell it more clearly than that.

Confusion churned within Strongeagle. "But you said you hunt with your brother," and what was more, he knew that the soul tangled with Sam's was his brothers, had to be.

"He came back," Sam hoarsely declared, saw confusion in Nathan's gaze even as Strongeagle's eyes glowed with acceptance and growing comprehension.

"He came back and he saved you, your soul?" Strongeagle asked gently, could see the open wound that still existed in Sam's soul at the remembered grief.

"Yeah, he did. More than once," Sam fondly stated, knew that, without Dean there to guide him back, from Ruby's manipulations, to anchor him after his time in Hell, his soul would be in a thousand shards. "But Dean wasn't the only one who left. I left him too."

Pushing to his feet, not brushing off Nathan's grip on his arm, Strongeagle met Sam's gaze. "And your brother was lost without you, without the bond, the love between you." Before Sam could make comment on that statement, Strongeagle continued. "It's what's fueled his hatred: the strength of your bond, that you came back for each other, saved each other when his own brother betrayed him, left him and doomed our people to death."

Nathan had to ask the question Sam seemed too stunned to ask. "Who? Whose hatred? Whose brother?"

"Paytah," Strongeagle said the name with reverence, could tell by Nathan and Sam's blank looks that they weren't familiar with the Sioux tribal leader. "Paytah was the chief of the Sioux that lived in this town. And he had a brother, Wanikiya, who was a great warrior, had saved the tribe singlehandedly once."

"But they had a falling out," Nathan surmised, watched as Strongeagle nodded his head.

"Wanikiya did not want to remain with his tribe, wanted to see the world that was beyond their hunting grounds. Paytah tried to convince his brother to stay, told him that the shaman had had a vision, that, if he left, he would be dooming the tribe to death. But Wanikiya, he didn't heed the vision, didn't care that his brother was begging him to stay, needed his help to protect their village."

Sam's throat tightened, knew in his gut how the tale was going to turn out, understood both roles only too well: the one who begged his brother to stay and the brother breaking free of his family. He had been both at one time or another. "The vision was right."

"Yes," Strongeagle solemnly concurred. "The day Wanikiya left, the village was attacked by the Ojibway tribe. Paytah and mostly all of his braves were killed. But the defeat was greater than a single village lost. It was the last day that my tribe lived upon their native lands, after that, they were pushed out of northern Minnesota."

"And Paytah blames his brother for that," Sam concluded, knew that the curse on brothers suddenly made sense.

"He's dead. How can he blame anyone for anything?" Nathan couldn't help but point out with frustration.

"His spirit can't rest, will know no rest, not until he has punished Wanikiya and returned honor to his family," Strongeagle revealed like it was the most sensible explanation.

"And since Wanikiya's spirit won't show up, he's zeroed in on all the brothers in town that depend heavily on each other. Gets retribution if one of the brothers threatens to leave, tries to do what his brother did to him," Sam surmised, didn't like the picture it was painting, especially when he didn't know how to mend a three hundred year old brotherly rift.

"All of creation is related. And the hurt of one is the hurt of all. And the honor of one is the honor of all. And whatever we do affects everything in the universe," Strongeagle quoted, tacked on as his two guests gave him a wary look, "Quote from White Buffalo Calf Woman."

"This calf woman give any advice on counseling dead warring brothers?" Nathan muttered, which Strongeagle pretended to not hear, kept his focus on Sam, the believer, instead.

"The fact that you left one another and yet still managed to reforge your bond, it must infuriate him. That you could do what he and his brother couldn't," Strongeagle realized, felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn't known what was going on his own town, with his own ancestors.

Nathan understood that rationale on Paytah's part, gave Sam a sympathetic look. "Guess that's why he's trying his best to ruin your bond, make it impossible for you and Dean to even be in the same room together."

"Question is, how do we break his hold on Dean and I and how do we stop him from hurting other brothers?" Sam posed, directed his look to the Indian expert in the room.

Running his hand through his short cropped dark hair, Greg exhaled, wished his grandfather wasn't out on some 'get back to nature' retreat so he could call him, get him to take over the situation. But as it was, Sam and his brother and the town, for that fact, were all just stuck with him and his meager shaman knowledge. Suddenly all his boasting about being Indian, about how the town was his people's land, the petition to return the town to the native name of "Okizu" for unity, it seemed a sham considering the thousand things he realized that he didn't know about his own heritage. Namely, how to get one of his pissed off forefathers to forgive his brother and go find peace. He could almost hear his grandfather's words: There will come a time when you must learn what being Sioux truly means, in your heart and in your soul.

Suddenly Greg Strongeagle worried that he wasn't up to the task, that he wasn't as Indian as he always thought he was, that he wasn't "strong" as his name vowed he was. And if he failed this particular rite of passage, it would cost lives.

"So does the cave in the forest off Route 22 have any links to Paytak or Wanikiya?" Sam asked, remembered that his brother was there, that Wade was probably in the bowels of that cave right then.

"It's how the tribe maintained unity. Any disagreements amongst the tribe were settled there, in front of the tribal counsel. But the chief had the final judgment."

"What kind of judgment?" Sam demanded harsher than he intended but that word 'judgment' never set well with him, especially after Dean's run in with Osiris.

"It varied. Sometimes the chief banished one of the parties, sometimes he made them fight to see who the victor or survivor was and sometimes, if the offence was great enough, he would execute the one he deemed to be in the wrong."

"And Paya…whatever, he's chief, right? Even though he's dead, he would still play judge, jury and executioner to anyone who stumbled into the cave?" Nathan asked, didn't wait for Strongeagle's confirmation before he turned to Sam, said with a relieved breath of air, "Good thing you and Dean didn't go down there." But his blood froze at the frightened, strained expression Sam was wearing. "Sam, where's your brother?"

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Adeptly avoiding the stalagmites, Wade settled his feet on the cave's floor and flicked on the light on his climbing harness's shoulder strap. He and Oliver had only been in a few caves, had preferred the openness, breeze and warm sunshine of a mountain climb verses the depths of darkness and stale air of spelunking. But this cave had the others he had been in beat for airlessness and dankness, made him think of that X-file cave where the black ooze creatures waited for their unwitting human vessels to plunder into their grasp.

"Don't freak out. The X-files aren't real," he coached himself, almost shrieked when a voice echoed in the cave.

"The X-files, really?! Mulder would pee his pants if he saw the stuff I have," Dean's voice came through Wade's cellphone.

"Holy crap!" Wade exhaled, closed his eyes before he snapped them open, spun around to warily check his entire perimeter for ghosts, aliens and anything else he had no desire to make contact with.

"What?! You see something?" Dean's worried voice came through the cell again.

"No, but I almost screamed like a girl. Warn a guy before you eavesdrop on my thoughts."

Dean's chuckle came through loud and clear. "You want me to haul you back up already or you think you can shelf your inner chicken and take a look around."

"As a motivational speaker, you suck," Wade groused back, unhooking himself from the harness and stepping forward into the open area of the cave. He shined his light around the cave's dimensions. "To my left about ten yards appears to be the main artery of the cave. I'll see where it leads…."

"Get the gun ready. And be care…."  
"…full. For the record, Scully was less of a mother-hen than you are," Wade quipped even as he obeyed Dean's commands and pulled the shotgun free of his backpack. But the gun felt foreign in his grasp and he didn't have much confidence that he could hit the broad side of a barn if his life depended on it.

"Bite me," Dean volleyed back, his voice bouncing off the cave's tunnels as Wade started to move down its length.

"Ok, I'm getting somewhere, high ceiling, nice roomy circumference," Wade narrated as he entered what he guessed would be the cave's main "room." Shining his light on the walls, he said with awe, "I think we hit the jackpot. There's hieroglyphics on the walls." Unclipping his phone from his belt, he snapped a few pictures, before circling around. He stood rooted in place at what his light illuminated. "By an altar, do you mean a bunch of bones on a ledge with bowls around it."

"Yes," Dean eagerly acknowledged but there was tenseness in his tone. "Take a picture and get out of there."

Wade drew closer to the altar, reached a hesitant hand out to touch the surface. "Ah, it might be my imagination but I think there's blood on this alter…and it's still tacky."

"Wade, move your butt!" Dean shouted like a Marine Sergeant, and it kicked in Wade's rusty but still functioning little brother obedience mode.

Scampering back from the altar, Wade turned to make a dash for the tunnel that led back to the hole, to the surface, to Dean, to safety but suddenly something…someone began to flicker right in his path, like they were coming through a Star Trek transporter beam. And they were bringing the coldness of the North Pole with them.

Raising the shotgun, Wade took aim, wondered if he needed to wait for the ghost to fully materialize before he sent a volley into their not so fleshy chest.

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"Wade, you hear me! Run, get out of there!" Dean commanded, frantically pacing the forest floor. But Wade didn't reply. Instead, only the all too familiar crackle of EVP came back to him, cinching the deal that Wade was about to have a Casper encounter.

Cursing, Dean ran to Wade's duffle bag, pulled out a spare set of climbing gloves and then stalked for the cave's makeshift entrance. Though he knew he was about to break his promise to Sam, he prayed that his brother would understand that he couldn't let Wade die, couldn't bear the weight of another life he valued being lost. That some things were worth his life.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the wonderful support you guys are showing for this story! It just means so much to me!

As far as the information on the Indians, in 1740 the Ojibway tribe did attack the Sioux settled near Mille Lacs and drove the Sioux from northern Minnesota. All the rest is me taking creative license.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	17. Chapter 17

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Sorry it's been a while since I updated this story! I've been reworking this chapter again and again and trying to get it into something decent. Well, I've decided to just post it and hope it's not terrible.

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Chapter 17

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Fighting the urge to not scream for Dean, Wade tightened his sweat-slicked hands on the shotgun, kept his finger pressing on the trigger and his still flickering target lined up. But the next moment, when his target became visible, solid…real, he nearly dropped the shotgun, stumbled back in uncomprehending terror.

"Whoa, hey, it's me. Really me, sort of," the beloved figure soothingly reassured, gave Wade his trademark smirk.

A smirk that was so familiar, so missed, Wade abandoned logic, croaked, "Oliver?" because as certain as he was that it couldn't be his brother standing in front of him, part of him wanted it to be true, needed it to be true.

Oliver smiled, overjoyed that his brother wasn't shooting him. "In the flesh…or as close as I can get these days."

"What? How? Are you…" Wade stammered, eyes greedily taking in everything about his brother.

"A ghost? Guess so," Oliver conceded with a shrug. "But when I sensed I had the opportunity to see you again….I took it, didn't waste time figuring out the hows, whys, or …"

"….the consequences," Wade reprimanded, but there was too much joy in his eyes for his reprove to carry much weight.

Oliver laughed, his mirth echoing in the cave. "You always were the responsible one, baby brother."

Wade's joy crumbled then, at the stark reminder of his brother's trait that had stolen him away from him, made Oliver a ghost right then. He was about to finally give Oliver the what for when Oliver tilted his head, like he was hearing something, made Wade strain his own ears for some telling sound. But he heard nothing.

Suddenly Oliver announced, in his big-brother-in-charge tone, "He can't come down here." His eyes holding Wade's, demanding that loyalty, that obedience that was always there between them.

"Who can't come down here?" Wade asked in confusion, wondered if another ghost was about to make an appearance and if so, what did his brother think he could do to stop it.

"Your friend." And Oliver jerked his chin up, indicated the forest above them. "If he does, he'll die."

"What?! Dean? Will you…." Wade began to ask, found he couldn't, didn't want to think his brother would hurt anyone, let alone someone Oliver knew was his friend.

Interpreting his brother's half asked question, Oliver scoffed, "Really? Now you think I'm a psycho ghost. No, laser brain, I'm not here to hurt your little playmate. Just…just trust me and …" He stopped himself, seemed to be listening again to something Wade couldn't hear. "Stop him, Wade!" he urgently barked the next second.

But as much as Wade didn't want anything to happen to Dean, he was reluctant to leave his brother's side, to lose Oliver all over again. "You won't leave?" he asked, knew he sounded like his eight year old self just after their parents had died and he feared his brother would leave him too.

Just like back then, Oliver didn't belittle his little brother's fear, instead promised, "I'll stay right here."

Fears allayed by his brother's vow, Wade dropped the shotgun and ran for the tunnel. As he pounded through the tight passageway, he heard another voice bouncing off the cave walls: Dean's.

"Wade, I'm coming down."

Pushing himself harder, unmindful of the cuts he was accumulating as his shoulders scraped along the tunnel walls, Wade shouted, "No! Dean, don't come down!" Then he was back in the section of the cave he had entered in, came to a skittered stop under the sinkhole opening and saw that Dean was on the lip of the opening, two seconds away from repelling down. "Dean, stay up there!" he commanded, drawing Dean's attention.

Seeing Wade in the glow stick's blue tinted light at the bottom of the cave, Dean exhaled in relief a second before he railed, "Answer me when I call you!'

"I'm Ok just…got spooked," Wade said, almost cringed at his choice of words. "I need some more time to explore."

"You said there was fresh blood on the altar then we lost contact," Dean recapped, eyes narrowing, studying Wade, afraid that somebody, something had put the whammy on his friend.

Knowing that he had to say the right thing or Dean would come into the cave, no matter the consequences, '_so like Oliver'_ , Wade firmly responded, "Phone connection's crap down here. Besides, I'm down here to investigate, not scamper away the first second I find something like a clue."

"A clue?!" Dean snarked. "You hoping to change careers, be a cop like Nathan?"

"Shut up," Wade chuckled back, thinking that Dean's humor was so like Oliver's. And he smiled wider at the thought of who was waiting for him. "Just…give me some time to explore." He could see Dean's indecision, knew he had to sell the deal, not only to get back to Oliver but also for Dean's safety. "You asked for my help, now you have to actually let me help you. And you can't come down here, alright. It's not safe for you."

"That's just a theory," Dean rebuffed, would willingly test it if Wade flaked out on him again.

"No. No it's not!" Wade thundered back, was done letting the people he cared about be careless with their lives. "Stay up there!" he commanded, didn't give Dean a chance to object as he stalked away.

Obediently climbing back to solid ground, Dean grumbled, "What does he think I am, a friggin' Golden Retriever."

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNS

"Dean's not answering," Sam tersely told his audience of two as he stabbed the 'end call' option on his phone and started for the door. But he came up short when Nathan made the dangerous decision to step into his path. "Get out of my way," Sam growled, eyes searing into Nathan's with promised retribution if the deputy didn't do as he asked.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't we just confirm your belief that going into the cave would be …" Nathan was about to say 'a death sentence' but suddenly changed his description when he recalled that Dean might be there right then "….dangerous for you and Dean."

"Yeah and Dean's there right now and he's not answering his phone," Sam anxiously snapped back, beginning to slip around Nathan.

Though he knew he was taking his life in his hands, Nathan blocked Sam's escape once again and grabbed onto the younger man's arms. "Going there would only put you in danger too."

"I don't care!" Sam shouted, gave Nathan a shove away and stalked for the door. But before he could reach it, Nathan plowed into him, forced him backwards until his back slammed against the nearest wall.

Bracing his forearm against Sam's chest, Nathan pinned Sam to the wall, shouted, "Well Dean does care! And if he wanted you with him, you would be there instead of Wade."

Nathan's statement gutted Sam, because it wasn't their choice, his or Dean's, to be separated. "I couldn't go," he revealed, yearning and regret coming off of him in waves.

Trying to see the logic Sam was working under, Nathan inquired, "Because of the shooting this morning, because you thought you needed to stay apart in case the chief sought to arrest you both?"

Sam swallowed, wished it were that simple, managed only to say, "No."

Processing Sam's denial, it took Nathan a few moments to make another leap of logic, well as logical as things were with the town's two out-of-towners. "Wait, you had your own motel room," knew by the way Sam averted his eyes from his that he was on the right track. He tried to phrase his next questions without any whiff of accusation. "Did Dean get another burn?"

Realizing that Nathan wasn't trying to pry or get a confession out of him, was merely trying to help him and Dean, which, seriously, was a rarity, Sam exhaled, slumped against the wall. Offhandedly noting Strongeagle's mystified expression over Nathan's shoulder, Sam met Nathan's concerned gaze, lowly confessed, "If Dean and I get too close, touch something that can be a conduit between us…I get shocked."

Nathan's eyes widened at the new development. "Shocked as in…."

"Feels like I'm touching a live wire….and it was getting stronger each time."

Nathan scowled and stepped back, released Sam of his imprisonment. Suddenly, Nathan wanted to go a few rounds with Paytah himself over the torment he was inflicting on his new friends. "So you took the adjoining room to stay close to Dean," he quietly surmised.

"See how well that worked out," Sam sullenly returned even as he was grateful that he was that close, that he had been there to protect Dean from the spirit, whether it was Bobby's or …..Paytah's?! Making that reasonable leap, his eyes shot to Strongeagle's. "Paytah, he attacked Dean in our motel room." Then he turned his terrified expression to Nathan. "He doesn't need to rely on nature or a brother to attack, he's not bound to the cave. And when he attacked Dean in our room, we…we weren't arguing. Dean's in danger even if he's not in the cave."

"No. No, that's not right," Strongeagle spoke up, dared to step closer to the two men now that the grappling seemed to be over. "Paytah can't draw blood, not outside the cave. A chief only has power of judgment there. And to kill someone by his own hand in anger, it would be against the spirits, would banish him from the spirit world."

"Banishment, that sounds like a good thing," Nathan said, but the careworn look to Sam's features told him he was wrong, very wrong.

"Not if banishing him costs Dean his life," Sam breathlessly declared, pushing past Nathan, his urgency doubled to reach Dean.

Running to match Sam's stride, Nathan rationalized, "You can't go there, Sam."

"Watch me," Sam snarled as he yanked open the door.

"Sam, think about his," Nathan ordered, grabbing Sam's arm, wasn't prepared for the punch that clocked him on the jaw, sent him stumbling back against the doorframe. There was a flash of sorrow and guilt on Sam's features but then the man was on the move, was out the door. "You can't get close to Dean, Sam! You'll get shocked! How will that help him?!" Nathan called out, urgent to reach Sam, to head off catastrophe, knew that Dean's safety was the only way to reach Sam, was the only thing Sam cared about.

Sam halted on the steps of Strongeagle's stoop, Nathan's words ringing too true.

Straightening off the doorframe, Nathan joined Sam on the stoop. "I'll go to Dean." And he could see the indecision on Sam's face, knew that it was torture for Sam, not being able to go to his brother when he was in danger. "Sam, please, let me go," he implored, because he knew what it meant for Sam to let him go in his place, to trust him with his brother's life.

Sam paced a few feet but the choice was really out of his hands. Looking up at Nathan, he hoarsely agreed, "Ok. I'll tell you where to find the sinkhole that leads to the cave."

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Traversing the tunnels back almost as frantically as he had come, Wade didn't breathe again until he was in the cave's main room, until he saw Oliver. "You waited," he breathlessly stated in awe.

His brother smiled fondly. "I always waited for you, even when you had those short legs."

Wade smiled, remembered then how easily his smile always came when his brother was with him. "Waited?" he snorted. "You usually threw me over your shoulders so you didn't have to wait."

Oliver chuckled, admitted with a grin, "True." But too soon he saw Wade's features transform from the impish, life loving kid he knew to the sorrowful man he had left behind, knew what the gist of Wade's next words would be before his brother spoke.

"But you didn't wait for me last time," Wade miserably accused.

"I just went ahead of you to test the handholds," Oliver lightly cajoled. "And when it's your time, I'll be there to haul you to the peak."

Wade couldn't hold onto his anger, not with Oliver there, talking to him, being there…in whatever form it was. Quirking an eyebrow, he mocked, "Mountain climbing metaphors? Really?"

Caught in the act, Oliver snorted, shook his head. He should have known his little brother would see right through his bull. "I wanted to appear wiser."

"Don't bother. You might hurt yourself," Wade drawled before he reproached, "Oh, wait, you already did that. You _died_, Oliver." And the ever present condemnation followed on its heels. '_And I did nothing to save you.'_

Reading the expression in Wade's eyes, predicting his little brother's thoughts, the undeserving weight, guilt that Wade put on his soul for _his_ actions, Oliver stepped closer, emphatically declared, "Hey, that was all me, Wade. I decided to not go to the hospital. It was all on me."

"I should have made you go," Wade volleyed back, knew that part of the blame was on his own head, that it was his hero worship that had kept him quiet, had caused him to stand by and let his own brother die.

Oliver gave a bittersweet smile. "You and what army? No, Wade, it was my decision," he insisted but his next words were as grief-stricken as the look in his eyes. "But you have to know that it wasn't my choice, to leave you. That I didn't want to leave you, thought we'd end up being those two legendary old guys in the town everyone still thought was cool."

"Oliver, no one ever thought we were cool," Wade mocked but there was more sadness in the tone then censure.

But Oliver smiled affectionately. "I did. And now you're something better than cool, you _save_ people's lives, Wade," he said, awe and pride shining through his words. Didn't let Wade in doubt of how he felt by declaring the next second, "I'm so proud of you, little brother."

It was what Wade always wanted to hear, that his brother approved of the way he lived his life, chose to honor his death, but it didn't erase his regret. "But I wanted to save _you_."

"I know you did," Oliver solemnly acknowledged, "but it wasn't up to you to save me, Wade. I was the older brother, it was my…'  
"…job to protect me?! That's crap, Oliver. We were in it together! You and me against the world," Wade railed back, had heard the same crazy thinking from Dean, knew better now what was going through his brother's head. "We could have handled this together."

"I screwed up, alright!" Oliver huskily admitted, the weight of that failure destroying the strength of his next words. "I left you alone and that so…so wasn't what I wanted to do. I wanted to be there with you forever, to protect you….always. I …I screwed up and I can't undo it. But what you do, who you are….that's something you couldn't have done with me there."

"Yes, I could have," Wade shot back, angry that Oliver would say that, imply that, make as if his life was better without him.

"I'm not saying I'm happy that I had to check out, leave you…I'm just saying…you did something good with your life, Wade."

And that settled something in Wade, mended some of what his brother's death had broken. "Doesn't mean I don't miss you."

"It better not," Oliver teased, enjoyed the light that was chasing away the darkness in his brother's eyes, laughed when Wade flinched back when he stepped forward. But he caught Wade before he could retreat further away and pulled his little brother into a hug.

Wade stammered, "You feel …real," trying to remain stiff under the hold that felt so much like one of Oliver's treasured bear hugs.

"I am real," Oliver declared with mocking indignation before he elaborated, "I just happen to be dead too."

And that humor, that was all Oliver, had Wade discarding his misgivings and wrapping his arms around his brother and tightly returning the hug.

When Oliver spoke next, there was a threatening edge to his tone, "And I'm still your big brother and everyone has to go through me to get to you."

"What are you…." Wade began to question in confusion. Pulling back, he saw his brother's hard expression and that his brother's eyes were locked onto something behind him. Turning around, Wade yelped, "Holy Crap!" at the sight of a male Indian fully decked out in buffalo hide, moccasins, feather headdress in his braided hair with paint across his cheekbones, an Indian whose expression spoke of savagery and hatred, not peace treaties.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS

Fighting to focus, his leg nervously jumping under the table, Sam traded off studying the books Strongeagle was showing him, to glancing at his cellphone a few inches away from his hand. "So others in your tribe …." He was asking of Strongeagle but he broke off mid-sentence when his phone trilled. Hurriedly snatching up the phone, he felt a burst of hope when the caller ID boasted '_Dean_'. "Dean?" he urgently beckoned, hand nearly crushing the phone in his grip.

"I think we found pay dirt, Sammy. Wade said there's an alter and get this…fresh blood," Dean's excited voice filtered through the connection.

From experience, Sam knew that Dean would just pile on the false bravado if he found out his little brother had been freaking out about his safety. So he silently bathed in the relief that his brother wasn't dead even as he rejoined, in what he hoped was a calm, interested tone, "Fresh blood?" But even as he posed the question, he shot Strongeagle a bewildered look. That didn't seem to fit with their current theories of Paytah's ghost being behind everything. But Strongeagle nodded his head and his eyes shone with enthusiasm. Sam could only take that as a sign that something about the blood made sense to the shaman.

"Yeah, _fresh_," Dean stressed before he began to theorize, "So I'm thinking, if we destroy the alter…well, have Wade destroy it, the tripwire on the town limits will be deactivated. Brothers can get out of Dodge if they so choose.…"

"Whoa, just wait Dean," Sam quickly cautioned before his brother managed to put his plan into action, told himself it wasn't because he feared Dean would opt again to leave him if the coast was clear. "We don't know all we're dealing with here. Strongeagle's pretty sure it's not a curse but a ghost. An Indian who died almost 300 years ago."

"And let me guess, he has some brother issues?" Dean sarcastically drawled, unknowingly earning a smirk from his brother.

"Majorly," Sam snorted in agreement. "He was a Sioux Chief in the tribe that settled this town. And get this, his name is Paytah, which means fire."

"Explains why he likes brothers to use fire, burns and electrocutions against each other," Dean surmised. "What's the deal between him and his brother?"

"His brother was the tribe's best warrior, was named Wanikiya, which means savior. But Wanikiya decided tribal life wasn't for him and left…the same day the tribe was attacked by the Ojibway Indians. Paytah was killed and so were most of the tribe and the battle allowed the Ojibway to drive the Sioux from Northern Minnesota."

Suddenly, it made terrible sense to Dean. "And Paytah blames his brother for his death and the fall of the Sioux tribes in the area."

"Seems like it. And now Paytah is making brothers in this town who abandon their families pay for Wanikiya's sins," Sam concluded.

"And the cave, the alter, how does that play into things?" Dean asked anxiously, as he stared down into the sinkhole.

"The alter may be the trip wire but the cave has its own power. It was the judgment seat of the old tribe. It's where Paytah resolved differences among the tribe, was how the tribe kept their unity," Sam imparted.

"Let me guess, he was judge, jury and executioner?" Dean put together, had a bad vibe about where things were leading, was especially conscious of Wade being down in said cave right that moment.

"He was if the two disputing parties couldn't come to a truce on their own."

"So if we put to bed the stuff between us, he can't judge us?" Dean ventured, knew that it sounded simple…but wasn't. Not when it came to him and Sam, with the million things they carried with them, between them.

"Ah, probably not," Sam regretfully refuted. "Strongeagle believes Paytah has latched onto us because he thinks we're like him and his brother."

"Oh great. So since he refuses to forgive his brother, he's getting his jollies by tearing us apart," Dean disdainfully drawled.

"Yeah," Sam dejectedly agreed.

"And you don't know how to tell him to mind his own business?"

"We're coming up with some theories…." Sam stalled.

"Which means you got jack," Dean realized.

"No. No…well, I don't know. Just…get away from the cave, Dean. We know he has full power down there to pass judgment and, if I'm right and he's the one who threw you across the room last night, he's not a fan of yours."

"So he's not restricted to the cave or just influencing brothers or nature to make his attacks," Dean miserably deduced. "Any good news?"

"Don't know about good but we think if he draws blood by his own hand, kills someone outside the cave, outside his place of judgment, that he'll be banished," Sam supplied.

"So all we need to do is sic him on someone we don't like and case closed?" Dean disdainfully suggested.

Sam smirked, always loved his brother's sick sense of humor, even when he didn't let on to Dean. "Yeah, why didn't I think of that," he sarcastically shot back. "But, just for kicks, why don't we not do that. Instead, I say we all regroup in town, do some brainstorming."

Dean paced away from the cave opening, hated to squash his brother's plan but was going to anyways. "Sam, I don't think that's a great idea," he tried to gently admonish.

"Why not?" Sam defensive demanded even as part of him knew it was a possibility, Dean refusing to come back to him.

"Aaahhh, maybe because I might electrocute you," Dean incredulously retorted before he softened his tone. "No, I say we stay apart, decide if one of us should make a run for the alter or something else."

"Dean, no," Sam protested in his hurt little brother tone.

But Dean refused to crumble to his brother's pleadings, not when his indulgence could cost Sam his life. "Sam, I'm not going to get you killed!"

Wanting to calm Dean down, Sam placated, "Ok. Alright. But ….just get back to town. I'll get Nathan to come back to Strongeagle's and we'll continue to do some research here. Call me when you're somewhere safe."

"Safe, in this town?" Dean scoffed.

Huffing out a breath, Sam allowed, "Well, at least _safer,_ alright. Not standing over Paytah's execution room."

"You and Nathan, huh? A bit of jealousy happening here, you partnering up with the cop since Wade was teaming up with me," Dean goaded, like his own jealousy wasn't climbing.

"What are you, ten again?!" Sam retorted.

"Aawww, little Sammy gonna pout because you can't hang out with big brother and his friends," Dean taunted, could just envision the pinched, sour look his little brother was probably wearing.

"I'm hanging up," Sam announced but he couldn't help but send an affectionate, "jerk," to his brother before he cut the connection.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Wade stumbled back when the Indian took a step toward him and Oliver, startled when the Indian spoke. And though he didn't understand the words, he interpreted the Indian's angry tone as being more a 'I want your scalp' than a 'take a puff off the peace pipe' invite.

Oliver didn't retreat, instead stepped in front of Wade, pulled his brother behind him and faced off with the Indian. His words for Wade, he reassured, "He can't hurt you. Not while I'm here."

From behind his brother, Wade challenged, "Does he know that," as the Indian came closer, stood toe to toe with Oliver, spoke again, different words than before. But Oliver didn't tremble at the confrontation, stood stock still, met the other spirit's eyes unflinchingly. But he did let out a relieved breath when the Indian flickered out of existence.

Turning to face his brother, Oliver worriedly inquired, "Are you OK?"

"Right, sure, why wouldn't I be?!" Wade breathlessly rambled, his heartbeat still thudding in his chest. "I meet ghosts every day of my life. He was a ghost, right? Like…." But he stopped before he made the comparison.

"Like me," Oliver boldly finished his little brother's question. "Yes."

"So what did he say?" Wade asked, wondered if knowing the meaning would be more frightening than the Indian's hate filled glare had already been.

"Like I speak Indian," Oliver jeered even as part of him was pleased that his little brother still thought he knew all things.

"So you don't know what he wanted?" Wade pressed, knew in his gut that whatever reason the Indian had for making an appearance, it wasn't going to be something as benign as participating in a powwow. No, he was betting it was more likely that the ghost was behind what was happening with the Winchesters and the other brothers in town.

"What he wanted was to hurt you," Oliver answered, a lethalness to his statement that indicated how he felt about anyone who had that intention in mind.

"You said he couldn't hurt me while you were here. Is that because you're a ghost like him?" Wade asked.

"No, it's because I would kick his butt to the curb if he laid one finger on you," Oliver boasted.

Wade rolled his eyes, objected in a long suffering tone, "Dude, I'm 29."

"Doesn't matter, you're still my little baby brother. But he can't hurt us, especially now that we've made our peace with each other," Oliver confidently stated a second before his misgivings made a showing in the apprehensiveness that seeped into his features. "We are ok, right? You and me? I know I let you down…that you think I betrayed you…."

"You didn't betray me," Wade sternly objected before his eyes softened and a teasing light emerged. "You broke my heart….but unlike all those woman you dated, I forgive you."

Oliver wasn't blind, knew the tremendous pardon his brother was giving him, loved Wade even more for it. Couldn't help but draw his brother against his chest, gave Wade's hair an affectionate rub and poked his finger into his baby brother's still ticklish side.

Jerking when his brother zeroed in on his tickle zone, Wade retaliated with a playful jab into Oliver's gut before pulling back, smiling adoringly at his big brother.

And as much as he wanted the moment, the then and there to last, Wade knew it wouldn't, couldn't. Knew that Dean was waiting for him above, needed his help, was counting on him, like Oliver once had. And he couldn't let that type of loyalty in him end like it had before, with failure and loss and grief.

"My friend Dean, he needs my help, our help, to stop Paytah before he kills more people, maybe kills Dean and his brother. So you have to tell me everything you can about him.. If you and I were still in a fighting mood, this Indian ghost could provoke us to start swinging at each other or worse, right?" he conjectured, was beginning to understand the 'who' if not the 'why' of the town's rash brotherly conflicts.

Oliver's face tightened with disgust. "Yeah, he's got a real hatred for brothers. I'm not sure what pisses him off more: Brothers who leave each other or brothers who refuse to part ways, no matter what he puts them through, like your friend, Dean."

"What's his problem with Dean?"

"I know Paytah has it out for him and his brother. Is screwing with their connection, hoping they will turn on each other. Like that girl Rihanna did with us," Oliver compared with disgust.

But Wade gave a cocky smile back in return at the memories of the lusty brunette. "She was almost worth it."

"Good to know your judgment when it comes to women hasn't improved," Oliver drawled, but there was mirth in his eyes, was not so secretly glad that their family legacy with the women hadn't died with him.

"Learned it from the best," Wade brazenly retorted. "So back to this Paytah's sick fascination with Dean and his brother…."  
"He would love for either of them to come down here into his domain."

"That's what you meant before, that if Dean came into the cave, he…the Indian would have killed him," Wade apprehensively realized.

"In a heartbeat," Oliver confirmed. "Well, if Paytah had a heartbeat yet."

"You said…. Paytofu…. whatever …couldn't hurt you or I because we were at peace with each other. What if Dean and Sam came down here together, could Paytah hurt them then?"

"I don't know. I think he's working under some code of honor code for the most part, that he thinks it's his right, his duty to punish disloyal brothers. But when it comes to your friend and his brother…it's pretty personal. I don't think he's going to play nice with them."

"So how do they stop him? Get rid of him? Blow up this cave?" Wade only half sarcastically proposed.

But Oliver shook his head. "It's not the cave that's allowing him to stay here. It's his hatred for his brother."

"Great, a ghost that needs counseling," Wade muttered. "Don't suppose you've seen his brother's ghost walking around here? Maybe we can arrange a sit down and they can talk things through?"

"No, Wanikiya's at peace. But maybe there's still a way to get them to talk," Oliver said, excitment building in his voice as he pursued his brother's line of thinking. "Paytah thinks Dean and his brother are a lot like him and his brother. Maybe Wanikiya could sense that connection too, would be open to one of the brothers."

"_Open_? Ok, you've totally gone ghostspeak on me," Wade sighed with exasperation.

As patient as always with his little brother, Oliver good-naturedly explained, "I was able to come to you here because you and I have a bond. If Dean or his brother can create a bond with Wanikiya…." At Wade's confused look, he clarified, "…if one of them can …I don't know…link themselves to Wanikiya, get him to realize what's happening with his brother, he might come and talk some sense into Paytah."

"Link to Wanikiya how? Do a séance?"

"I don't know the mechanics of it, just that they have to get in his head space, maybe Paytah's too. It might bring the Indian brothers together again."

"To either annihilate each other or mend their bridges," Wade deduced.

Oliver nodded. "Either way, Paytah's reign of terror on brothers would end."

Wade smiled widely and shook his head in awe. "Not bad for a guy whose idea of conflict resolution was to be the first one to land a punch."

"I'm taking a few pages from your book," Oliver admitted with a smirk before he cautioned, "But the meeting you arrange between the Indian brothers, I suggest it happens here in the cave. That ensures they both play fair. If they don't, the forefathers of their tribe will pass judgment on them."

"Like a court of law?"

"Yup. And when they find you guilty, there's no retrial."

Both realizing that their time together was drawing to an end, Wade and Oliver fell silent.

"Don't suppose you can hang out here, that I can come back some other time?" Wade wistfully ventured but he could read the answer in his brother's expression.

" 'fraid not. This is a once and done deal," Oliver regretfully stated.

With a voice that cracked, Wade implored, "How am I supposed to walk away from you?"

"Same way that I'm going to let you… with the knowledge that we're part of each other. That someday, after you've turned 99, we'll hang out again, be two legendary brothers in heaven," Oliver vowed, tears glistening in his eyes.

Wade had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could form words. "Legendary good or Legendary bad?"

Oliver shrugged but smiled brashly. "That will depend on our mood, the wind and…."

"…how many girls are watching," Wade finished his brother's often touted climbing motto with a soft smile.

"So you didn't forget everything I taught you," Oliver said.

Wade held Oliver's gaze. "I remember it all."

Oliver shifted nervously on his feet. "Ok, well….some of that, I made up as I went along."

"I know," Wade returned with a tender smile. "I usually recall your advice, remember how it turned out when you followed your own advice and then I make a determination if I should go ahead and do what you said I should."

Oliver chuckled. "Smart move." Then his eyes turned serious. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself, baby brother."

"I will," Wade hoarsely agreed.

Accepting Wade's declaration, Oliver gave his brother one last adoring look, bade with love, "I'll be waiting for you, Wade."

"I know you will…" Wade said even as his brother flickered away and he was left alone. But as much as there was sorrow in Wade's heart, there was also healing, was hope, was forgiveness and love. Everything that his brother had given him in life…he had managed to once again restore to him. "Thanks big brother," he said to the empty cavern before he picked up the discarded shotgun and headed back to the cave opening.

He had to save Dean and Sam and his brother might have just given him the insight to do that.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSN

"Thought you were scoping out living quarters down there," Dean grumbled as he gave Wade a hand out of the sinkhole, no use letting the other man know he was doing a nervous pace since ending his call with Sam.

'_He doesn't know how tempting that idea was_,' Wade thought as he took his first few steps onto the forest floor and began unlatching his climbing harness. He startled when Dean reached out and touched his arm.

"You ok?" Dean worriedly inquired, sensing something was off with the younger man.

"Yeah. Yeah," Wade hurriedly reassured, wasn't quite ready to admit to seeing his brother, his _dead_ brother. Even to Dean, who seemed totally open minded about such things. But when he went to move away, Dean was there, blocking his path, meeting his eyes, his look, not charged with insistence that he open up, but full of concern.

"Hey, whatever was down there, whatever you saw, you can tell me. Trust me, I'm not going to call you crazy," Dean quietly reassured, trying to hold Wade's skittish eye contact.

And Wade believed Dean's vow. It was his own ability to not choke up when he talked about Oliver that he had doubts about. "Ok, well….I saw a Indian, wearing full on Last of the Mohicans garb."

Dean offered up a supportive smile at Wade's confession. "Strange as that is, it confirms what Sam called and told me. Apparently there's a three hundred year old Indian holding a grudge against his brother."

"I know…." Wade quietly but firmly stated, his eyes coming up to steadily hold Dean's gaze.

Wade's declaration had Dean tilting his head in confused surprise and his eyes studying his friend with more intensity. "How? Wait. Did the Indian talk to you?" concern in his tone.

"Yeah, but I couldn't understand him."

That made even less sense to Dean. "So how did you…."

"My brother," Wade cut in, watched as Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise. "My brother was down there. He told me about Paytah."

"Your…_brother_," Dean repeated slowly, wanted to make sure he wasn't misunderstanding Wade.

"Yeah. Oliver, you remember I told you about him…." Wade tried to offhandedly remark, like it was no big deal, him seeing Oliver, having a heart to heart with his brother.

"And he's…." Dean faltered, didn't know how to say the rest without it coming out heartless.

"Dead?" Wade supplied, with a measure of mirth that even managed to surprise him. "Yeah. I'm still trying to come to terms with what just happened," he admitted, running a hand through his hair and shifting on his feet.

Knowing that sometimes the reunions between the living and undead didn't always go the heartwarming route, Dean demanded, "He didn't hurt you, did he?" his protectiveness surging to the surface, even as he knew he was being a hypocrite, especially since he had snapped at Sam for trying to protect him against what he thought was Bobby making a house call at the motel.

"No, he didn't hurt me!" Wade sharply denied, a heaping of outrage at the very notion of Oliver harming him. "He protected me from Paytah." Waited until he saw Dean accept that truth before he continued, "And he told me how we might stop him."

But as much as Dean wanted to latch onto the 'stopping Paytah' revelations and run with it, he couldn't turn a blind eye to the emotions pouring off of Wade. "He say…he say anything else to you?" he carefully prodded, knew it was none of his business and yet it kind of was since he was the one who had sent Wade down in the cave in the first place.

Finding that he trusted Dean, even when it came to his relationship with Oliver, Wade nodded his head, swallowed and hoarsely revealed, "He said he was sorry."

Dean stilled, knew how raw a wound his brother's death was for Wade. "For leaving you," Dean stated more than questioned.

"Yeah," Wade answered with a tight exhale of air. "Said what you were telling me…that he didn't mean to go, would have stayed with me if he could have."

That sentiment hit Dean right where he lived, was him going to Hell and leaving Sam all over again. "You forgive him?" he asked, his own voice tight with emotions, with hope because he was a sucker for brother reconciliations, especially when it gave him optimism that Sam would continue to forgive him for any of his future transgressions.

A slow but bright smile pulled onto Wade's lips, chased away the remaining shadows lurking in his eyes. "Yeah, I did." And it was what he should have done all along, but couldn't, not without his big brother's help.

Dean gave a satisfied half smile, half smirk. Not wanting to let on how sappy he felt at Wade's news, he deflected with a joke, "You don't have to thank me or anything for being the reason you saw him and patched things up between you two."

"Thank you?!" Wade sputtered with indignation. "You sent me down there to face off with a scalp taking ghost?!"

"He doesn't take scalps and you weren't defenseless," Dean deflected, nodding to the shotgun peeking out of Wade's backpack. Before Wade could protest further, Dean grabbed some of the climbing gear and started heading out of the forest, called over his shoulder to Wade, "So, you mentioned a way to stop old Tonto….."

Wade stood there for a moment, gave a final sentimental look down into the sinkhole before he started to trail behind Dean. He had a life of his own to get on with, a life Oliver didn't begrudge him, instead was proud of him. And, crazy as it was, his life right now involved taking down a ghost.

Wade found that that thought wasn't the most calming one, not with him standing alone in the forest near the cave. "Whoa, hold up…" he anxiously called after Dean as he swung the backpack onto his shoulder and quickly took up pursuit after the other man. Suddenly, he recognized that there was something to be said for being under a big brother's protection or being honored by the friendship of a guy who had a huge hero complex, a guy who was patiently waiting down the trail for him…just like any good older brother would.

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tbc

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Thanks for reading and for the encouraging reviews!

Have a great day!


	18. Chapter 18

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 18

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Though Nathan wasn't sure the Chief would approve of him dodging their small town traffic with his siren and lights flashing, he knew Sam would. And he couldn't find it in himself to be repentant. If Sam thought his brother was in mortal danger, that was good enough for him. He had seen enough of the brothers' interactions to know that their bond was capable of some pretty astounding things. Dealing with a curse that had them at each other's throats seemingly just one thing in a long line of worse things, if he was reading them right. And as much as his faith in his judgment had been shaken at Brendal's attack on Josh, watching the Winchesters, being there when they made their discoveries, it made him believe that there were other forces at work between his friends, that his trust wasn't misplaced. Not in Brendal…and not his steady fast growing faith in Sam and Dean.

He wasn't all that surprised when his cell phone rang a few moments later.

"Sam, you gotta give me some time to get there," he patiently reasoned, swerving around another car to leap frog in front of the main street traffic.

"Dean called. He said he's ok," Sam's announced and Nathan could hear the palpable relief in the other man's tone.

Foot easing only slightly off the accelerator, Nathan hazarded, "So should I still meet up with him and Wade?" because he wasn't so sure Sam wouldn't want physical verification of his brother's claim.

"No!" Sam hastily banned. Followed it up with a less intense tone of dismissal, "I mean…nah, I don't think you have to" like it was a non-issue, that it didn't matter to him either way. For Sam's part, he hoped Nathan would just take him at his word and turn around.

Processing Sam's befuddling response, Nathan at first feared the younger guy was more shaken than he realized…until he remembered who Sam Winchester was: a guy who went up against ghosts, werewolves, _fairies_. (He couldn't help smirking at that one all over again.) So, no, it wasn't fear tripping up Sam's brave front right now, it was something more common to little brothers: embarrassment. Pulling off to the side of the road, he drawled, "Oh, I get it. You don't want Dean to know you were worried about him."

"What?!" Sam squawked. "No. No! I just…" taking an audible swallow, he continued in a carefully crafted happy-go-lucky tone, "…don't want you to waste your time driving all that way for nothing."

Nathan chuckled. "Uh huh," he unconvincingly agreed. "So when I do talk to Dean, I'm free to mention you socking me in the face because I tried to stop you from being his knight in shining armor, come to rescue him?"

Knowing that Nathan was teasing him, had him over a barrel, Sam exhaled and admitted in his most piteous little brother tone, "Actually, I'll like that to be our little secret."

"Thought so," Nathan smugly replied. "So, am I coming back to Strongeagle's place?"

"Yeah. He's got some other books we can look through, might get a better handle on how to stop Paytah."

"Ok, see ya in a few," Nathan said in the way of a goodbye but Sam's call of his name stopped him.

"Nathan?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," Sam's heartfelt gratitude came through the connection, loud and clear.

But Nathan couldn't help but tease, "For going after Dean or promising not to tell Dean you sent me after him like a worried mom?"

Sam snorted, should have known he wasn't fooling Nathan. "Both," he confessed and disconnected the call with a smile because he knew that whatever harassing Nathan gave him, Dean's would have been ten times worse.

After all, Dean already had more than enough evidence of how panicky his little brother got when his big brother went MIA, even for a lousy half an hour. If Dean heard about this?! It would be a long month of taunts, of Dean texting him 'I'll be back' from the bathroom, of him leaving him stupid notes in the room when he simply went out to the car.

So yeah, Dean not finding out about his freak out? That was well worth Nathan's taunts.

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Climbing out of Dean's car, Wade came up short at the sight of the Winchester's motel room. "Do I want to know why there's a police tape across your door?" he asked, giving Dean a probing look across the car's roof.

"Probably not," Dean mumbled as he shouldered his bag and led the way to the room, glad that Sam had somehow managed to sweet talk the Chief into not posting a deputy to arrest him at his return. Shouldering through the tape, he entered the room and dumped his bag onto the table.

"Is that…buckshot?" Wade asked, reaching out, tracing the pockmarks in the wall with his fingers.

Crossing over to the refrigerator and pulling out two bottles, Dean handed one bottle to Wade as he corrected, "Rocksalt."

"Because you had a visitor …" Wade drawled, recalling Dean's earlier reasons for his split with Sam.

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"_We got a visit from an old friend…well, I think it was from our friend."_

_Wade approached Dean. "You don't know if he was truly your friend or you don't know if it was your friend visiting?"_

"_Exactly," Dean sarcastically jeered._

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"But it wasn't your friend," Wade concluded, knew enough about Dean to know he wouldn't greet a friend that way.

"Guess not," Dean allowed with an air of detachment.

But Wade was too shrewd an observer to believe Dean's pokerfaced act of impassiveness. "It was Paytah but …you actually thought it was someone else," the revelation coming almost easily after having had his own reunion with his dead brother. Dean didn't deny his claim, simply ignored him, started digging in his bag. "You thought it was the spirit of someone that you lost."

"Like I said, that's a long list," Dean darkly provided as he pulled the can of salt from his bag. Heading back to the door, he began putting a line of salt along its borders. "This will keep Paytah from making a return visit," he explained, his back to Wade.

Torn between wanting to press Dean for answers and knowing that the situation was tense enough without forcing on a therapy session, Wade offered, "What do you need me to do?"

Detouring to the night stand on his way to the window, Dean snagged the free notepad the motel offered and tossed it to Wade, who deftly caught it. "Sketch the alter you saw, with as much detail to any signs, markings and layout as you can."

"And here I thought my artistic talents would go to waste after I stopped finger painting," Wade drolly returned.

Having generously dosed the windowsill with salt, Dean groused to Wade, "Less talking and more drawing." Barely held back his smirk at Wade's snarky, "Yes, Dad."

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"Wade's _brother_ showed up? In the cave?" Sam incredulous posed to Dean through the phone lines.

Leaning against the rental car, Dean replied, "Yeah and Wade's brother thinks Paytah gets even more pissed when fighting brothers reconcile. Spoiled grapes I guess because Paytah and his brother never did."

Insight tinged Sam's next words, "Like Brendal and Josh. Brendal said he thought Josh was going to forgive him…"

Picking up Sam's train of thought, Dean concluded, "Then hello fire. Our pal Paytah's personal calling card apparently."

Sam mentally connected another dot. "That's why he created the burns and the shocks between us, we weren't quitting on each other."

"Guy's seriously screwed up," Dean berated. "Kills disloyal brothers who try to leave town and burns brothers who start to patch up their relationship. Who made it his business anyway!" he fumed, never was one to tolerate anyone getting between him and Sam, either when they were close as thieves or fighting like cats and dogs. Even with Bobby, he had very little tolerance when the older man had dared to cross that line. '_And now this Indian thinks he has the right to butt into our brotherhood?!_' Dean seethed at the dead guy's nerve.

Though he sanctioned the anger and indignation he heard in Dean's tone, felt the exact same way, Sam also knew that he had to be the reasonable one at this juncture. "As chief, the tribe's unity was Paytah's responsibility. And Strongeagle believes, as the town here in Cooper Flat's grew, Paytah claimed the town and its people as his tribe, that he thinks it falls on him to keep his new tribe unified. Even you remarked on how nice the people were in this town, that they were so friendly to each other and to us."

"So you think some of the Mr-Rodgers-won't-you-be-my-neighbor stuff happening in town is because of Paytah?" Dean shot back, didn't really want to check any marks in the "good guy" column for Paytah.

Sam's tone turned philosophical. "Like most good intentions, some good does tend to come out of it."

"Unless you're brothers and you get pissed at each other, then good ain't the word for the old chief's intentions," Dean bitterly clarified.

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a dark chuckle, ruefully tagged on, "Figures we would ride into _this_ town arguing."

"Like that's something new," Dean grumbled under his breath, unknowingly earning a frown from his brother.

Not liking Dean's insinuation, Sam opened his mouth to deny it but Dean spoke first.

"Anyway. Wade's brother thought we should stage an intervention between Patyah and his brother, see if they can bury the hatchet between them. He said we should set the pow-wow up in the cave because, in there, if the brothers can't make peace on their own, supposedly their forefathers will rain their judgment down on them. Either way, goodbye Paytah's reign of brotherly terror."

"Yeah but how do we get Wanikiya to show up, let alone go into the cave where he knows his brother has the power to pass judgment on him?" Sam dubiously posed, thought it sounded next to impossible.

Dean let out an audible sigh. "I have no friggin' clue. But Wade saw the altar, made a sketch of it. I sent him over to you. Hopefully it means something to Strongeagle."

Sam nodded his head, almost startled as a hand tapped him on the shoulder, drawing him back to the fact that he wasn't alone, was still in Strongeagle's living room. That he had had an audience this whole time.

With his visitor's attention finally claimed, Greg pointed to a page in a book and handed the book to Sam. He saw the man's eyes fly up from the page to meet his, a question in his gaze. A question he gave a firm nod to.

Then Sam was talking, again not to Strongeagle but to his brother on the other side of the 4G network. "Wait. Greg did find something else out about the judgment rituals in the caves. If the two warring parties did not trust the chief to judge them fairly, they could seek their forefathers' judgment instead."

"And we think that's better how?" Dean challenged, was gun shy on the notion of judgment and for good reason. He knew that he was far from being a saint, by anyone's standards.  
"I don't know. But I'm thinking a retrial with any other judge then Paytah would be in our favor," Sam countered, didn't think anyone could hate them quite like Paytah did right then.

"And we "seek" the forefather's judgment how?"

Expecting to get some serious flak from Dean about the 'how' part of the plan, Sam mumbled, "Vision."

"What?"

Sighing, knowing he had to pay the piper sooner or later, Sam enunciated, "We have visions."

"Visions?!" Dean scoffed, beginning to think he had shocked Sam badly enough that his little brother had lost some of his brain cells.

"Yes," Sam weakly replied. Thought he might as well tell the worst of it "And the spell to induce the visions…it calls for…"

"Let me guess, peyote?" Dean guessed, mirth instead of censure in his tone.

"Ah, no, wrong ingredient. Strongeagle said we would need to go into a deep trance to get the vision we're looking for."

Again Strongeagle demanded Sam's attention with a tap to his shoulder, eagerly supplied, "If the connection between you two and Paytah is this strong, one of you might be able to connect with Wanikiya in your vision. You can show him what his brother has done, plead for him to show himself to Paytah and end the blood feud between them."

Hearing the stranger's voice through the cellphone speakers, Dean jeered to Sam, "That the great Strongeagle, imparting his Indian wisdom to the lowly white man?"

Giving a closed mouth smile to Strongeagle, Sam got up, crossed to the man's kitchen for some privacy before he replied to his brother's retort. "Dean, he's trying to help us. What part of that ticks you off?"

"Ah, most of it," Dean wisecracked. "Ok, we do this vision so even _older_, deader Indians can decide if we deserve death or if we should stay separated and in the middle of all that, we drop in for a social call onto old Paytah's estranged brother, see if he'll stop by his brother's execution chamber for a heart to heart. Sure, sounds easy."

The way Dean outlined things had Sam biting his lip. It sounded farfetched, even to him, like the plans of a desperate man. '_Well I am one_,' he sourly admitted, didn't think there was much he wouldn't try to ensure he and Dean didn't have to 'pick a hemisphere' the rest of their lives. "It's not our best plan, I admit but what else can we do, Dean. Paytah is gunning for us and if we don't do something soon…" he broke off, didn't need to voice his worst fear, knew it was Dean's too.

Hearing the tremble in Sam's tone, knowing the fear that Sam was barely hiding, Dean relented, "So you were talking about the ingredient for the vision inducing spell…"

And that topic wasn't any safer than the last, was maybe worse and Sam wished he had been allowed to say it before, slip it in with something else to distract Dean. As it was, the silence between them held and he knew Dean was waiting, patiently even, for him to provide the name of the ingredient. "Death Camas," Sam bluntly announced, knew it was no use in sugarcoating it.

"Death…Poison?!" Dean sputtered across the cell lines. "Why don't we just 'Thelma and Louise' it, pick our favorite cliff and go over it."

"I know it's not without risk," Sam admitted, couldn't help confession a moment later, "Yeah, Strongeagle said that some of his ancestors had their visions and then dropped over dead, legend was because the vision took too much of their life force but really it was…."

"The lovely death camas, doing its thing," Dean blithely rejoined, wasn't a novice when it came to poisons and spell-work risks.

"It's not the first time we've taken the hair of the dog. We did that dream root stuff," Sam recalled their dream tripping in Bobby's head…and in Dean's.

"Yeah, and you almost got your head bashed in with a baseball bat by a psycho," Dean shot back, needed to bring Sam back to the reality of how their lives usually sucked.

"So this time I'll take my batting helmet," Sam attempted to joke but knew it fell flat when Dean's reply was a cold silence. "Dean, this will work." '_Because it has to_,' he told himself, could see no better solution. "We need to do this."

But Dean's mind was formulating another plan. "According to Wade's brother and your Indian expert, old Tonto will get the boot out of the spirit world if he sheds blood outside the cave, breaks his love and peace pact. So I say we egg him on, make him strike out. He already attacked me in the room, shouldn't take much for me to push him over the edge, especially if I'm in his special place in the forest, say…. trashing his altar."

Feeling sick with fear at Dean's plan, Sam tersely corrected, "Not _sheds blood_, Dean. **Kills!** If he _kills_ someone, he gets banished."

Dean shrugged, Sam was always one to get hung up on the details. "Close enough."

"No. No way!" Sam thundered, wanted to reach through the phone and shake his brother, hard.

"Beats us both poisoning ourselves for a crazy shot at spirit walking," Dean resolutely shot back, didn't see how Sam thought his plan was crazier than his.

"Dean, Paytah _pushed_ you and sent you flying across the room. Who says he won't go right for the kill if you 'egg him on'?!" Sam tried to reason with his brother even as his own composure was totally AWOL.

"This isn't my first wagon, train, Pilgrim," Dean drawled in his best John Wayne impersonation.

Dean's lack of seriousness only sent Sam's blood pressure through the roof, had him nearly shouting into the phone, "Dean, this spirit isn't our run of the mill ghost! He's nearly 300 years old! Was a warrior …a …a killer when he was human. And now as a spirit, his power isn't about parlor tricks, knocking over dishes, turning a room cold. He can manipulate people's feelings and minds, can generate fires and start flash floods where there is no water, Dean!"

Dean gave a school yard taunt, hoping to derail Sam's rant, "So you're scared of him?"

"Yeah and you should be too!" Sam incredulously challenged.

"This is my job, Sam. Fear doesn't factor into it," Dean boasted, even as he knew he was lying, that there was always fear, especially when Sam's life was on the line. Like it was now.

"So what, now you miss Bobby so much that you're anxious to join him in the hereafter?" Sam caustically volleyed back. Instantly, he regretted it, had never wanted to verbalize the fear that had been trying to claw out of his chest since Bobby's death and Dean's desperate need to believe that Bobby was still with them in spirit.

For a moment, Dean couldn't draw breath, Sam's accusation cutting to close to the bone. Then he managed to mutter back, "Don't be stupid, Sam."

But it wasn't the impassioned denial Sam had expected, wanted, needed to hear from his brother. Instead it made his own lungs forget how to function, made his next words a wheeze of air, "You promised to not get killed, remember that?" But accusation gave his next words strength and a sting, "That you'ld '_do what you could_'. Is this your version of that, huh? Provoking an off-the-charts powerful ghost to come after you, to kill you?!"

"No," Dean croaked out, followed it up with a stringent, "No, Sam!" Because leaving Sam, it wasn't his plan, never was his plan, just like leaving Wade hadn't been Oliver's. "I'm trying to save us."

"There is no us if you get yourself killed, Dean," Sam hoarsely pointed out. '_There is no me without you_,' wished Dean would believe him if he told him that.

"And there is no us if your little herb incantation kills us. Remember the lovely ingredient: death camas, emphasis on 'death'," Dean countered, didn't want Sam taking that type of risk, especially if he didn't have to.

"It's not like it'll be the first time you avidly courted death," Sam reproachfully recounted. "How long did you say Dr. Robert let your heart flatline?" He still wanted to punch Dean over that stunt, regardless of the personal gain he had gotten out of his brother's suicidal risk. Nothing was worth his brother's life. _Nothing_.

"The ends justified the means," Dean doggedly defended. "But this, Sam, it's all risk. We don't know the spell will work. But what I do know is that altar needs to be toasted."

"Are you forgetting its past the town limits?! Not to mention what Wade's brother said, that you would die if you go in the cave," Sam heatedly reminded, couldn't believe that little factor was slipping Dean's mind.

"Old Thunderheart can try," Dean brazenly retorted, smirk in place.

"No," Sam growled. But then he was distracted by Nathan's arrival back into the house. Recognizing the concern in Nathan's gaze, he gave his fakest, reassuring smile. One that he could tell Nathan's wasn't buying. And as much as Nathan's worry for him was nice, it wasn't what he wanted right then, wanted instead to be able to knock some sense into his brother's thick head, loudly and with cursing if necessary…and without an audience. Leaving the kitchen, he nodded to Nathan as he shouldered by him and headed out the front door.

In the meanwhile, Dean was still trying to sell his case. "Sam, the tripwire at the cave has been taking the most lives. If I destroy it, the rest of the fallout between brothers in the town will most likely just be black eyes and ruffled feathers. Paytah only does his fire trick when he's really ticked off at some brothers, and right now, that anger is focused on us. So I go torch the altar and if I run into Tonto while I'm there….."

"Dean, I'm not going to let you do it!" Sam ferociously vowed as he reached Stongeagle's lawn, began to pace.

"And how are you going to stop me, Sam?" Dean challenged. "You can't get within a hundred yards of me." And it hurt, to mock, to use the enforced separation between him and Sam, had him gently rationalizing with his next breath, "We don't have to both take this risk." '_My way you'll be safe_.'

"No, we do this together. That's how this partnership works, Dean!" Sam bristled, wished Dean would stop trying to be his protector, would just realize that all his little brother wanted was for him to not leave him. Permanently or otherwise.

Dean rubbed his aching forehead, tried to instill logic into their conversation. "Maybe you're forgetting this little point but we can't do it together, can't go into the cave together. Not unless someone carries us in on stretchers and even then, we couldn't function…not that close to each other. Not now."

"That's my point, Dean. We fix the crap between us and then we take on Paytah, **together**." And Sam found himself holding his breath, hoping.

But Dean's next words weren't concessions, were words of disapproving disbelief. "So we turn our backs on everyone else, save our own butts?!"

Finding, in that moment, that he didn't care about saving everyone else, Sam hurled back, "Excuse me for being selfish, for wanting us to be OK, for not wanting to lose you again."

Dean pushed off the rental car and paced in the motel parking lot, understood where Sam was coming from, only too well. "Technically, I lost you last."

But Sam knew that wasn't quite true. '_No. I almost lost you when we lost Bobby. I know that, even if you don't, Dean._' Aloud he conceded with a "Whatever. I say you and I get out from under Paytah's judgment and then worry about toasting the altar and putting him out of the therapy business."

And Dean wanted to go along with Sam's idea, he really did. Except there were too many unknowns about the path Sam wanted to travel, too many pitfalls, too many ways they could fail…could both die. "And what if we die, Sam? What if we both die having these "visions", 'cause that's possible, right? Then who saves the townspeople? Huh? If not us, who? If we just focus on saving ourselves, on getting what we want…we're just as bad as Wanitiya and Paytah. Two selfish jerks who don't care who they hurt as long as they get what they want," Dean said, giving Sam a painful dose of reality.

Sam hated that tears welled in his eyes, that Dean's logic, it made sense, terrible, painful sense. But he was so sick of giving everything he had, letting go of everyone he loved for the greater good. Just wanted one thing, one thing out of his life: to have his brother at his side. It shouldn't be that much to ask, not when the rest of the world had so much and he had let all that go, sacrificed it all to save the lives of people that he didn't even know. And all he was asking in return was for the life of the person that he loved most to be guarded, to be spared.

His voice cracking, Sam implored, "Dean, please," even as he didn't quite know what he was pleading his brother to do. Maybe to just make this better, easier. To make the choice not so unbearably hard, to find another way. A way that didn't end with him alone, all over again. Without his brother.

Hearing the break in Sam's voice, detecting the underlying heartbreak his brother was feeling, Dean clamped his eyes shut, felt the sting of tears fighting to slip free. It shouldn't be this hard to do the right thing. It shouldn't. It shouldn't feel so….painful. And it shouldn't hurt Sam the way that it was. That was just crap, pure and simple.

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Fearing that the elder sibling would change his mind, would be swayed by his brother, would chose to not come to him, Paytah shouted "No!" Stepping closer to the younger sibling, he began the incantation, soon saw smoke envelope the tall white boy.

But the boy was oblivious to the smoke, was impervious to it….until his brother spoke his name.

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Sighing, rubbing a hand down his face, Dean began with a weary, "Sam…"

Instantly, coughing burst from the other end of the line and Dean could hear the wheezing intake of a breath. "Sam? Sam, you alright?!" But Sam was too busy hacking up a lung to answer him. Hand coiled tightly around his cellphone, Dean waited, could feel his own chest tightening in sympathy and worry as Sam's coughing fit notched up another degree.

Bending over as the coughs robbed him of air, Sam was starkly reminded of the awesome time when Zachariah had decided to remove his lungs. That only served to spike Sam's panic, made it take even longer until he could manage to draw in a labored breath. Pressing a hand to his aching chest, he straightened. "I feel like a ten pack a day smoker," his hoarsely quipped.

Hoping to conceal his silly fear over his brother's simple coughing fit with glibness, Dean joked back, "You sound like it too." But again a painful string of coughing came back as his brother's reply. Cursing, he waited again for his brother's worrisome coughing episode to cease. He winced at the raw, breathlessness of his brother's voice when Sam finally spoke again.

"I don't know ….what's wrong," Sam gasped, didn't care that he was sounding like a scared kid. Truth was, the last bout almost had him passing out, and it didn't feel like he was getting enough air even now. "It feels …..like I'm inhaling smoke."

'_Where there's smoke…there's fire_,' Dean immediately thought and bitterly knew who was behind Sam's attack. "My voice.." he began to explain but Sam's hacking started up immediately, worse than before. Cursing, Dean pulled his cellphone away from his mouth and angrily stabbed the "end call" option. Apparently Paytah was back to his games again, was now making Dean's friggin' voice trigger Sam's attack.

Fighting the urge to throw his phone across the room, Dean paced the parking lot, hadn't thought Paytah could do much more to them since they were separated but this…this was low. Not even allowing them to talk…on the friggin' phone?!

And all Dean could do was pray that Sam was Ok, wasn't passed out somewhere. Alone.

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Nathan didn't want to be nosy, he really didn't. But Sam had looked…well, not good when he had arrived back at Strongeagle's. The younger man had been wearing the same look his one friend had when he got the call from his wife saying that she had moved out, was filing for divorce. A look like his world was crumbling apart.

So yeah, from inside the house, he had done a drive-by the front window, had seen Sam pacing the yard, his back to him. And now, on his second pass, Nathan expected to see the same scene, but didn't. He cursed as he watched Sam sink to his knees on the front lawn.

Bolting for the door, Nathan ripped it open and took the stairs three at a time.

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TBC

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And there's where we leave things. (grins evilly)

Thanks for the wonderful reviews for last chapter! Loved them all!

Thanks for reading.

Have a great day!


	19. Chapter 19

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 19

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By the time Nathan reached the younger man's side, Sam had already pitched forward, was nearly curled in a ball on the lawn, barking out choking coughs like he was in a burning building instead of outside in the clear crisp air. Dropping to his knees beside him, Nathan put a hand on Sam's shoulder and bowed down to try and catch Sam's eye. "Sam, do you have asthma? Do you have an inhaler?" he demanded, knew his tone needed to be sharp enough to break through Sam's pain and panic.

But Sam gave a shake of his head as the relentless coughing made it a very real possibility that he was going to throw up…or die of asphyxiation. Neither prospect he was looking forward to. And like every time he got sick as a kid…and almost died as an adult, he _really_ wanted his brother to be with him.

Hand tightening around Sam's shoulder, Nathan frantically began ticking off the possibilities for Sam's attack, quickly ruled out asthma, choking, smoke inhalation….. '_Smoke…ah crap_!' and, as improbably as it was, that sounded about right when they were dealing with a spirit whose name meant fire. "Hang on Sam! Hang on!" he entreated as he surged to his feet and ran full out for his truck. And it was almost ironic, that what he had thought he would need to use on Dean that first day when he had pulled him from the burning car was now what he sought to use on Sam: his portable oxygen mask and tank.

It felt like someone was choking Sam, from the inside out, was Zachariah's now-you-have-it-now-you-don't lung trick all over again. Felt like there was nothing to pull air _from_. Wished the coughing would relent for a millisecond and give him a chance to see if there was even a source of air left in his body. He was going to black out soon, his throbbing head told him that. And that terrified him, because it was a hop, skip and jump from passed out to dead. And he couldn't do that, not to Dean. Couldn't go, because if he did, he knew what Dean would do, his brother would go after Paytah guns blazing…and die.

'_No! Not going to happen, not again_!' he railed, even as he got his hands under him, tried to lever himself off the ground, to sit up, to get up, to not lay down and die, and consequently sentence Dean to death.

Astonished to find Sam trying to get up, harsh breath-steeling, life-steeling coughs still tearing through his chest, Nathan nearly base slid to his side, didn't expect the fight, when he tried to put the mask over Sam's face, that Sam had energy to fight. But he had seen this reaction before, when a person was afraid they were on the last moments of their life and had something they wanted to do, needed to do before the final curtain call.

And it didn't take Nathan more than a second to know Sam's last thoughts would focus entirely on his brother, on his brother's safety. "Dean's ok, Sam. He's ok! You told me that yourself and Strongeagle said you were talking to him. You were just talking to him. So focus on yourself right now, let me give you some oxygen. You let me do that, and I swear, second thing I'll do is let you talk to Dean."

'…_let you talk to Dean. Dean's ok_,' Nathan's reassurances repeated in Sam's head and he believed them, had to.

Letting his hands crumble under him, Sam crashed back onto the ground, blinked up at Nathan as his friend fit the oxygen mask over his mouth. And then a flow of air pushed its way into his mouth, down his throat, into his lungs, allowing them to inflate for the first time in what felt like an hour. He coughed again, fogged up the mask but it was a seismic blip on the screen compared to the coughs that had come before.

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Breaking every speed limit known to man, Dean ruthlessly pushed the rental car to its limit. And as determined as he was to reach the cave, to ice Paytah before the Indian succeeded in killing Sam, it gutted him to be going the opposite direction to where Sam was, to be unable to go to his brother's side.

It only made his hatred for Paytah burn brighter.

Dean almost jumped when his phone rang. But one look at the caller ID and he knew he couldn't answer the call, not when one word from him might _kill_ his brother. And yeah, it wasn't the first time that he had ignored a call from his brother, but it was the hardest call to not answer, especially when he ached to hear his little brother's voice, to be reassured it was Sam on the other end of the connection, that he was OK.

And just when the call would have gone to voice mail, the ringing stopped.

But Sammy, persistent as ever, just called again. And again…and again…and again…and again, never bothering to leave a voice message.

Starting to hate the taunting "Sam calling" on his phone's display, Dean entreated to the painful solitude of the rental car, "Sam…stop," because, seriously, he didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

And then he remembered that Sam wasn't alone. Hitting 'ignore' on the incoming call, Dean dialed out, felt like he was drawing in his first breath in minutes when the phone was answered.

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Watching Sam's frantic dial-a-thon, Nathan wished the other man would have agreed to go to the hospital, had at least agreed to go back into Strongeagle's house instead of sinking down onto the porch steps and refusing to budge. But true to his word, Nathan had pried Sam's phone from the younger man's grip and initiated a call back to Sam's last caller. Then, before it even began to ring, he had deposited the phone into Sam's demanding, impatient hand. Thus beginning the drama he was now helplessly watching.

By Sam's raw, husky, "Come on, Dean! Answer the phone!", Nathan knew that there was no joy so far in reaching Sam's brother. And he feared, if Sam kept pushing himself, that his oxygen tank would have to do its duty again. He scowled when his own phone demanded his attention. Honestly, he didn't want to get called off on another case and leave Sam alone, not in the state Sam was presently in.

"This is Nathan."

"Nathan, its Dean."

At the sound of Dean's voice, Nathan's eyes shot to Sam's and he smiled. "Dean," and he felt warmth flow through him when Sam's head snapped up, as he watched Sam's relieved, blissful reaction at the mere mention of his brother's name. "I'll put Sam…"

"No! No!" Dean nearly screamed, prepared to toss the phone if the next voice he heard was Sam's. Hurriedly, he demanded, praying that he was still talking to just Nathan, "Just tell me if he's OK?"

His forehead creased with confusion, Nathan replied, "Yeah, he's got his cough under control," not sure why on earth Dean would deny Sam hearing his voice when that clearly was the thing Sam coveted the most right then. "Sam's right here. I can…." He began to offer even as Sam stood on shaky but determined feet and stretched out his hand for the phone, his eyes imploring… demanding.

Again Dean's response was a ferocious order. "Don't give him the phone! Don't! Just… just tell him I think he's reacting to my voice."

Eyes never leaving Sam's, Nathan began to question, "Reacting as in…" hoping all the while that he was misunderstanding Dean's meaning.

Suddenly not looking one ounce the helpless victim that he had only moments before, Sam commanded, "Give me the phone," as he made a grab for Nathan's cellphone.

Wholly trusting that Dean had his brother's best interests at heart, Nathan stepped back out of Sam's reach, purposefully, seemingly cruelly denied Sam what he wanted more than he had wanted breath, life. Seeing the thunderclouds gathering on Sam's features, Nathan wondered if he was about to get another fist to the face.

For Dean, it was both joy and pain, hearing Sammy's voice through the connection. "Nathan, just tell him," he huskily prodded, not envying Nathan that particular task.

Lowering the phone, Nathan held Sam's eyes, read the confusion, the hurt, the worry ebbing from the other man and knew his next words weren't going to make anything better for Sam. With heartfelt remorse, he passed on Dean's theory, "Dean thinks your coughing…that it's a reaction to his voice."

"No," Sam defiantly dismissed, before he pounced, forcibly ripped the phone from Nathan's grip. "Dean? Dean?!" Though his inquiry was met with silence, he could hear breathing from the caller, knew his brother was still on the line. "It's not that, ok," he shot back, even as a little voice in his head told him Dean was right. But his declaration earned him more silence, the absence of sound more painful and unnerving than a scream at that moment. "Just say something," he achingly entreated, needed to hear Dean's voice for his own sanity. He gently rebuked into the void, "Dude, we can't start jumping to conclusions."

A few heartbeats later, Nathan's phone dinged and Sam pulled it back, tapped the screen and read the text message from his brother.

_I talk, you can't breathe._

"Prove it?!" Sam taunted through the phone lines, like his anger was directed at Dean when it so wasn't. His brother was the last person he was mad at. But Dean made no reply, verbally or by text and Sam knew that was Dean's way of waiting him out, letting him accept the facts, of not shoving them down his throat.

Cursing, Sam clutched tightly to the phone, to the only connection he had left to Dean. '_And Paytah wants to take that away from us too,'_ because Dean's assumption, it made sick sense. When he spoke again, he knew it wasn't smoke inhalation choking him up, "Dean, this is …"

Another ding.

_Crap._

Sam sighed, ran his hand over his mouth, laughed almost hysterically, "Crap?! This goes way…wwwaaayy beyond crap."

_I'll destroy the altar_.

The words froze Sam's blood in his veins, had him shouting, nearly screaming, "No! NO!" into the phone. Then he commanded in a tone worthy of John Winchester, "Dean, you stay away from there. You hear me?! Dean?!" Again silence echoed back to him, but it was void of something it had had a moment before: the sound of his brother's breathing on the other end.

Pulling the phone back, Sam clamped his eyes shut a moment as fury and fear swamped him: Dean had hung up on him. Viciously redialing, he swore as voice mail kicked in instantly, told him that Dean's phone was now off-line. That Dean had shut him out, had no intentions of listening to him, was going to go and get himself killed in some stupid notion of protecting him. '_We protect __each__othe__r, Dean_!' he wanted to scream to the skies, would have too if he thought it would reach Dean.

Though he had only heard Sam's side of the conversation, Nathan easily put the pieces together, knew the very last place Sam would want his brother to go was where Dean was headed. And he was man enough to admit that he was afraid of what would happen now, was ridiculously happy to see Wade's car pull up to the curb. He was surprised that Sam ended up beating him to his best friend's side.

Wade was still in the process of getting out of his car when Sam was suddenly there, towering over him and savagely demanding, "Why aren't you with Dean?"

The question threw Wade for a loop because, though he had expected Sam's anger, he had thought it would be over him _being_ with Dean at the cave, not at him _not_ being with Dean. "He told me to come show you the drawing I made of the altar."

And it clicked together for Sam. Dean had sent Wade away on purpose. Had planned to go to the cave on his own all along. Had duped them all. Out of some misplaced 'greater good' fantasy.

In stunned horror, Nathan watched as Sam angrily sent _his _phone sailing through the air, winced as it plummeted back to earth a couple yards away, its pieces scattering the ground like piñata candy. "Hey, that was my…." he began to complain but Wade elbowed him in the gut, shot him a warning look. Now was not the time to bemoan the destruction of his phone, not when Sam looked all too eager to pound on someone.

"He's going to the cave!" Sam furiously announced, turning to his two companions.

But that didn't make sense to Wade and he contradicted, "No, he wouldn't. I told him what Oliver said."

Shooting Wade a condensing, 'clearly you don't know Dean' look, Sam stated, his disproval ringing in every syllable, "He thinks he can make it to the altar and destroy it."

"And what, die there?!" Nathan exploded finding his own anger stirred at the recklessness of Dean's plan. He purposefully ignored Wade's wide eyed 'you're so not helping the situation' exasperated look.

"I have to stop him," Sam declared in the determined Winchester tone that both of the Cooper Flat's residents had become only too familiar with.

It was Nathan who took his life in his hands and again blocked Sam's path. "We'll never get there in time. We're thirty minutes out and it would only take him ten to get to the cave from the motel." To his relief, Sam didn't respond with his fists this go around, instead the younger man paled further and ran his trembling hands down the length of his face.

Knowing that panic never solved a thing, Sam exhaled, shoved his fear into a box and locked the key. Focusing on the two people he trusted to help him, he began to recount the facts, hoped Nathan or Wade could see a solution he couldn't. "And Dean turned off or tossed his phone. And me alone doing the incantation won't work, it needs to be both of us to break it. To get," and he did air quotes, "unity between us," an angry edge to his statement, torqued all over again that anyone, alive or dead, thought they had the right to decide what defined unity between him and Dean.

Nathan brainstormed aloud with Sam. "We can't get there before him. You can't reach him by phone… "

Wade, angry that he had fallen for Dean's manipulations to get him out of the way, that Dean wasn't taking Oliver's warning, from the friggin' grave, seriously, muttered, "Not like he would listen to common sense anyway." Only rolled his eyes as Nathan's irritated, 'now who isn't being helpful' glare.

Knowing that someone had to offer hope, Nathan said, though his tone sadly lacked in conviction, "Maybe his plan will work."

"It won't," Sam snapped, agitatedly pacing the lawn, his ragged breath more evidence of his fugitive panic than his earlier brush with asphyxiation. '_I should have flat out forbid Dean to do this from the start_.' He gave an internal snort, '_Yeah, like that would have made a difference_.' Knew in that moment, if given the chance, if Dean would only answer his friggin phone, he would humbly resort to begging Dean to turn around, to come back to him. He would send up smoke signals, if it would help. He just needed one way to get through to Dean, to tell him to not do this, to make him understand that, if he lost him, it would be over for him too. Everything, all of it.

Hands waving in the air, Wade ranted, "We can't call him, we don't have time for Nathan to set up a road block, so unless you and Dean can do some Obi-Wan Kenobi '_Luke, Go to the Dagobah system'_ mumbo jumbo between you, he's gone."

Misinterpreting Sam's sharp look, Wade paled and nervously backpedaled, "I didn't mean gone _gone_, I meant he'll get to the cave way before we can head him off."

Gleaming something else entirely different from the Star Wars reference than Wade had assumed, Sam hastily pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Sure, now he's gonna use his own phone," Nathan mumbled under his breath, giving a forlorn look to his cellphone's final resting place.

Wade knocked his shoulder against Nathan's, tried to lighten the mood, "You needed to upgrade anyway. You couldn't even charge that dinosaur in your car."

Then their attention was snagged by Sam's strange phone conversation.

Sam barely gave the smoky female voice on the other end of the line time to say "Radio Station 109.5 Dedications, all Day, every Day and just a phone call away," before he said in a rush, "I want to make a song dedication from Sam to Dean: "If we're in trouble, we stay together, fight together, that's how it works with us, Dean,' and the song is 'Funkytown'."

But the woman's voice came back with an amused chuckle. "Ok, sugar. We only do current pop songs and this ain't Hallmark. You wanna send a meaningful long message, text 'em." But having sensed the desperation in the man's voice, she took pity on her caller, repeated the information as she started to write it down, "So it's Sam dedicating to Dean. Now the song, hun?"

The radio station rules threw a proverbial wrench into Sam's brilliant plan of a moment ago. And he almost scrapped the whole idea but knew he couldn't. This was his one and only avenue to reach out to Dean. "Make it Sammy," he amended, knew that the nickname might catch Dean's attention, might tell Dean how desperate he was, might show Dean how loyal he was to his big brother.

"Ok, so it's from Sammy to Dean. You gotta current song in mind?"

'_No_,' Sam wanted to sullenly retort but knew the woman was giving him kindness when he really needed it and didn't want to abuse her for it. "He's going to make fun of me for this…" he mumbled before he told the woman the song he wanted dedicated to his brother.

"Good choice, kiddo. We'll play it sometime in the next hour," the woman reassured.

"What? NO!" Sam erupted. "You need to play it now. Right now."

The woman sighed through the line. "You want a lot, don't you, sweetheart."

Sam pressed his fingers against his eyes, knew he was on the borderline of getting what he wanted and couldn't let his emotions blow it for him…or his pride. Dropping his hand, he bit his lip then confessed, the crack in his words wholly not fabricated for effect, "Listen, I'm about to lose my brother and I…I can't. I need him to hear this song, know that….he can't go."

There was an intermittent inhale of breath on the other end of the line and then the woman agreed, voice a bit choked, "Ok, sugar. Ok. We'll play it right now."

"Thank you," Sam exhaled, the weight of his gratitude shining through his words.

"Good luck, sweetheart," the woman bade and then she ended the call.

Emotionally spent, Sam sat down right there in the grass and bowed his head against his knees, clutched the phone like it was a life raft and waited. Prayed that he knew Dean as well as he thought he did, that Dean would be listening to the radio in the rental car, that he would know the dedication was to him, would get the meaning of the song, know what "Sammy" was begging him to do. Would bow to his little brother's needs like he had all of his life.

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The silence in the car deafening after he had hung up on Sam, Dean had turned the radio on, thought even emo rock was better than listening to his self-recriminations for letting things go this far, or trying to shut out his self-doubts, or letting Sam's panicked order to not do what he was about to do replay in his head.

He wasn't paying much attention to the music, would have missed the DJs words had the station not rudely cut into a half-decent song with the dedication.

"Well, we're continuing our dedication hour and one call just came in. This song goes out to Dean from Sammy. Here's Lullaby by Nickleback."

Dean's own name didn't arrest his attention, but the "Sammy" did, had his heart racing even as he told himself it couldn't be from Sam, that he was getting delusional, was going on an ego trip where he thought everything was about him. It was a ludicrous assumption that the Dean mentioned was him, especially since he didn't even know the emo rock group, let alone the song.

He had himself convinced that the dedication wasn't from _his_ Sam, until the song began.

_'Scared 'cause I can't get you on the telephone.'_

_ 'If you can hear me now, I'm reaching out to let you know that you're not alone'_

_ 'I have faith in you'_

'_Stop thinking of the easy way out'_

Hearing the lyrics, Dean instinctively knew Sammy had sent it. And his brother's message? It was clear, crystal clear.

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Sam's head snapped up when Wade's phone, not his, rang. He held his breath as Wade anxiously answered it with a timid, "Hello?"

"Wade, when you get to Strongeagle's, tell Sam I'm buying him a bra," Dean reproachfully stated, but his true emotions seeped through, told Wade that big bad Dean Winchester had gotten all choked up about a silly song dedication. And Dean's next words didn't even try to pull off the façade, were hoarse and affectionate and apologetic, "Tell him...that I heard him. That I'll drink the crap, that we'll do it at the same time or not at all."

Wade couldn't hide his wide smile, winked at Sam as he spoke to Dean, "I'm here already, Dean. And most of that doesn't make any sense to me but I'll pass it onto Sam verbatim." But before he hang up, he teased, "Lullaby, really?"

"It meant… Sam wanted me to know…" Dean stammered before he remembered that he wasn't answerable to Wade. "Ah, shut up and tell my brother what I said," he grumbled good-naturedly before he ended the call.

Sitting in the car that he had pulled off the road after the song had ended, Dean couldn't help but shake his head and wonder when he had started greedily stockpiling chick-flick moments instead of loathing them.

There was no doubt in his mind that it was all Sam's fault that he was turning into a girl.

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Sam was on his feet, was fast approaching Wade, hand itching to snag the phone when Wade ended the call. But Wade's twinkling eyes offered him hope. And he clung to it with both hands. "That was Dean. What did he say? So he heard…Is he still going to the cave?" he anxiously threw out at Wade, needing answers right then, before he hyperventilated or had a complete mental breakdown.

Wade couldn't keep a straight face, replied with levity and a huge smile, "He said, and I quote '_Tell Sam I'm buying him a bra'_."

Sam gave a choked, not all that sane laugh, because that sounded like Dean. He opened his mouth to impatiently demand more answers when Wade continued.

Wade reverently recited Dean's next words, knew what they would mean to Sam. "Dean said that he heard you. That he'll drink the crap. That you'll both do it at the same time or not at all." And Wade expected the look of elation on Sam's face, the relief, he didn't expect Sam to engulf him in a tight hug, like he deserved some credit in Dean's decision.

But Wade returned the hug, was more than willing to rejoice in the victory, especially when the win felt like it was for all little brothers in the world who had to reign in kamikaze, overprotective big brothers.

Finding himself channeling Oliver's crazy sense of humor, Wade amusedly realized that he finally understood the cliché, "I got it for a song," that Sam had paid for his victory with just that type of currency. Well, a song and a fierce bond of brotherly devotion that even the dead couldn't hope to break.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for all the fun reviews on last chapter's cliff hanger. But I played nice this time with no cliffee and even ended the chapter on a positive, if sappy, note.

For those in the US, consider it my Thanksgiving gift to you!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.

PS: Disclaimer: I do not own or have any rights to Nickelback or their amazing song, nor am I making any profit from this story.


	20. Chapter 20

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Sorry that it's been so long since I updated this story. Trust me when I say I wasn't holding out on you. I simply couldn't write a thing, stared at many a blank Word screen. But I want to thank all of you for your patience!

Story so Far: Dean and Sam find themselves in a town where a 250+ year old Indian spirit, Paytah, is punishing unfaithful brothers. He takes a particular dislike to our boys when they won't let him fracture their brotherhood so he makes it impossible for them to stay together, to even talk. Now, set on breaking Paytah's hold on them, Dean and Sam are about to partake of an Indian potion that induces visions in the hopes that the spirit world offers them a way to be together again and reach Paytah's estranged brother and finally send Paytah packing.

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Chapter 20

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Greg Strongeagle didn't know when his house had stopped being his private sanctuary, when he had given his Ok for the fake FBI agent, the deputy and now some blond guy to stalk back into his house like they owned it. He opened his mouth, was set to give a snarky put down when his grandfather's words came back to him. '_A shaman's duty is to the tribe, to do what he can and what he must for his people.'_ And right now, that apparently meant allowing unwelcome guests free reign of his home…and his kitchen, he noted as the deputy came out of that room holding a glass of water, which he didn't drink but passed onto Sam with a fierce command of "sit down and drink that."

To Greg's surprise, the willful younger man obeyed the order, sank into the nearest chair and held the glass with both hands. It was then that Greg saw it, the paleness of the man's complexion, the small ripple in the water in the glass that the man's trembling hands caused. But, unexpectedly, he sensed something else ebbing from Sam's soul: a contradicting wave of relief, of satisfaction.

Coming to a stand in front of Sam, Greg waited until Sam raised his eyes to him before he gently asked, "What's happened?" certain Sam's emotions had everything to do with his conversation with his brother.

Instead of answering Greg, Sam intently countered with a question of his own. "How quickly can you make the potion to induce the visions?"

Everything suddenly felt surreal for Strongeagle, Sam's question, the expectation in the man's eyes as they seared into his, the way the two other men in _his_ living room were looking at him, waiting for him to have a set answer. As if he whipped up possibly deadly potions all the time…instead of only a handful of times his whole life. "I…I have the ingredients," only because his grandfather had been insistent he keep them on hand, like some day someone would knock on his door and want him to play shaman. '_Like today_.'

And it felt like the spirits were there, were testing him, were finally taking notice of him…and he feared he would fail them, fail his family, his people…just like Wanikiya had. But one look into Sam Winchester's unflinching gaze and he knew that failing the spirits he could survive, failing this man and the brother he loved, that would be a death sentence.

"Give me half an hour," he announced, left no doubt creep into his tone, could not falter now, not when lives were at stake, his as well as the brothers. But there was more than that, was the honor of his tribe, of the tribe Paytah was decimating that lay in the balance of his untested skills as a shaman.

To Sam's surprise, Nathan grabbed Strongeagle's arm, halting the Indian's exit from the room. "Sam and his brother, they want to take the potion at the same time but they can't be anywhere near each other." Sam was touched that Nathan was lobbying for his wishes to be met, felt a little foolish he had not thought to tell Greg that awhile.

The request seemed to shake Strongeagle's earlier façade of confidence. "There's a ritual…things I need to say to greet the spirits, get their permission to seek the visions. They can't …shouldn't take the potion without…"

But Wade stepped forward, cut in as he held his phone up to Strongeagle with a smug smile. "Welcome to the 21st century. I know no one likes to call in their performance but I think you can pull it off without offending the great spirits of your forefathers."

Nathan chuckled, Sam's hopeful eyes held Greg's and the untested shaman sighed, unconventional seemed to be the watch word with this group. Begrudgingly taking Wade's offered phone, he found he was actually glad now that his grandfather wasn't going to be there to witness his first act as a shaman. His grandfather thought grinding up the ingredients for a potion in a blender was sacrilegious, he really didn't want to know how he would react to the sacred communication between a shaman and the spirits going cellular.

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With nothing to do but wait, Dean decided to abandon the interior of the car for a leaning stance against the car's frame. He gave the trees towering over him a wary glance but they didn't seem hostile at the moment. Finding himself in the unusual position of being utterly alone, he said aloud to the lonesome highway and not very welcoming forest around him, "Bobby? If you're here…now would be the time to come out for a chat. No Sam…heck, nobody's around here for miles." Giving a look around, he found nothing, no cold air, no rustling of leaves from an unforeseen wind. There was no indication that he was doing anything but talking to someone that wasn't there, was never going to be there again.

He let out an exhale that shook, just like his voice did when he spoke again. "I wish you were here Bobby. I wish we…I hadn't gotten you killed." But he bitterly shook his head, pushed off the car and paced away. Shouted to the woods, to his dead surrogate father, "What did you expect!?"grief bubbling away to anger, like it was prone to. "How did you think it was going to end!? You being around Sam and I?! You think you were immune?!" he nearly screamed, saw some birds skittering away at the disturbance to their serene world but he didn't care. His world was never serene and at the moment, he didn't know why anyone else deserved that luxury.

But his rage trickled away, leaving only the ever present pain behind. "I miss you," he said around a bitter smile. "Sam misses you. Guess I should be glad you're not stuck with us any more, that you're somewhere safe. Maybe watching 'Tory and Dean' reruns with a cold one in hand, for once not being interrupted by us calling, hoping you can bail our butts out of the fire." And that picture wasn't so painful, lifted a bit of the weight off his soul.

"I don't know what you would think of Sam's idea, of us dosing ourselves with death camas, hoping to have visions." But then he gave a rueful chuckle, "Yeah, I do. You'd call us 'idgits' and tell us to take care of each other." Immediately he clenched his jaw, fought down the lump in his throat because he could almost hear Bobby saying just that.

Shaking his head, he tried to get himself soldered together, gave a mirthless laugh, "Don't know why I'm unloading on you now when I might soon be meeting up with you if our plan goes belly up." And Sam's accusation returned to him, that he wanted to die, to go wherever Bobby was. Clearing his throat of the emotions that stirred in him, he continued, "But don't stand around waiting for me 'cause I'm going to try my hardest to not die, and I _won't_ let Sam die. This crazy Indian, he's not going to get what he wants, because that's something else you taught me, to not give up on Sam, to not give up on myself, to not give up on family, even when they hurt me the most."

The approach of a car snagged his attention. Wiping his eyes and the expression from his features, he watched as Wade pulled up behind him on the shoulder and got out of his car, carrying a thermo cup and a duffle bag. "I like my coffee with a little sugar," he joked but Wade didn't crack a smile as he approached.

After carefully setting the cup on the trunk of the car and carelessly dropping the duffle on the ground, Wade steamrolled right into Dean's personal space, growled, "What were you thinking?! You tell me how Oliver didn't want to leave me, that you would _never_ willingly leave Sam and then you go and pull this crap!" he punctuated that sentence with a shove that had Dean stumbling backwards.

Fighting the urge to not swing at Wade, Dean clenched his jaw, hissed in warning, "Wade…."

But Wade didn't heed the warning, stepped again into Dean's personal space. "You sent me skipping off to Sam, planning the whole time to go back to the cave."

Dean shrugged but it was a defiant gesture instead of a dismissive one. "Had to leave my options open."

Wade angrily shook his head before he stabbed his finger in Dean's chest, "You talk a good game but you don't know crap about how it feels to try and protect someone who won't even let you get close enough to assess his wounds."

Irritated the second the word "protect" popped up in Wade's rant, Dean snapped, "This is my area of expertise. I don't need you protecting me from the hazards."

But that statement only stoked Wade's agitation higher. "Not me protecting you. Sam! Sam protecting you."

"Sam's the one needing protection, he's the one choking at the sound of my friggin' voice…."

"And Sam's the one clocking Nathan because he stood in the way of Sam getting to you when you weren't answering your phone at the cave earlier," Wade volleyed back. "Sam's the one who didn't care if he coughed up a lung hearing your voice, just needed to know you were OK. He _begged_ a DJ to play a song, give you a message so you didn't go and get yourself killed! As fiercely as you want to protect him, he wants to protect you, Dean. He doesn't give a flying fig that you're older than he is, he only cares what happens to you, that you're safe. And he'll do anything…_anything _to make sure of it."

Dean met Wade's blazing blue eyes head on, said after a minute, "Lecture done?"

Wade exhaled in frustration, bit out "Didn't you hear a word….."

"I did," Dean cut in briskly before he softened his tone. "I heard, Ok. You sounded just like Sam on one of his tears."

"And you're not going to change your ways…" Wade realized, deflated.

"If it ain't broke…" Dean sallied but winced when Wade spun away from him in disgust. It wasn't easy being the big brother, meant that sometimes you had to disappoint those you wanted to protect.

Snagging the thermo cup off the trunk and retrieving the duffle bag from the ground, Wade called over his shoulder, "Strongeagle told us to set up somewhere in the woods," as he stepped off the gravel shoulder and started heading for the dense forest.

"Another nature trail, wow, I'm excited," Dean muttered even as he obediently started following in Wade's wake.

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Sam fought the urge to cover his eyes when Strongeagle shed his long overcoat to reveal that he was only wearing a strategically placed piece of loincloth. The bare skin of his chest, torso and legs were decorated with paint the same color that was found on his face in dashes and squiggles like a football fan with a too eager enthusiasm for team spirit. He did look away when the Indian sank down to the sidewalk into an Indian style sit. Thankful when Sam looked back to the Indian, Greg's loincloth was covering what it was supposed to.

Nathan gave a quiet curse at the spectacle as he looked around the town square, saw that they were attracting some attention. He dug out his badge, held it up, ordered, "Police business, just keep doing what you're doing." That slowly dispersed the public, leaving them alone for the moment. "Let's hurry this along," he muttered as did a circle around Strongeagle and gave Sam a 'you sure you wanna do this look.' But Sam's features were set and he nodded and knelt down on the sidewalk in front of Strongeagle.

Exhaling, Nathan groused, "I'm going to get fired," before he knelt on the ground. "So this is the site of the original tribe's camp, you sure?" he asked of Strongeagle, received the stink eye in response. "Ok, so that's why you did your exhibition routine here before."

"It wasn't because I was hoping to put on a concert," Greg snarked back before Sam's controlled voice had him remembering the seriousness of what he was about to do.

"So we're where Paytah most likely was killed and Dean's in the woods because that's where Wanikiya would have been at the time of the massacre," Sam surmised, wished that the supposed logic of all this wasn't so much guesswork and desperate hope.

"Paytah relates to you two, I think he'll make a connection with one or both of you."

"He's already made a connection with them, he's tried to get them to kill each other," Nathan groused, earning him a look of gratitude from Sam and irksome glare from Greg. "Fine, I'm shutting up. I just don't see how connecting with him is a goal we _want _to achieve."

But it was Sam that gave an answer, not Strongeagle. "We really want to connect with his brother but if we meet Paytah on even playing field, we might have a chance of talking some sense into him. And if that doesn't work, the visions are where the forefather's pass judgment, they might see Paytah's hatred against us is unjust and step in, delve out their own punishment to him."

"Lot of speculation," Nathan drawled, winced at the putrid smell that wafted his way when Greg removed the cap on the potion. "What kind of dead crap is in that stuff?!"

"It's…"Strongeagle began but Sam put him off with a "Doesn't matter, long as it works," even as his eyes lanced into Greg's, ordering him to silence.

Taking the hint, Greg vowed, "It will. But once you are in the vision, I can't break you out, either of you. Getting out is up to you."

Sam gave a bittersweet smile. "Coming back from the dead's kinda our thing."

"Here's praying you don't break your streak," Nathan said his worried eyes finding Sam's. And the matching worry he saw in the youngest Winchester's gaze, he instantly knew that it wasn't for himself, was all for his brother.

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Having also deftly avoided telling Wade the special ingredient in the potion, Dean nearly gagged as he took a whiff. "Why do the best potions have to smell like rotting corpses?" he whined as he sat the cup down in the forest floor in front of his kneeling form. "Guess I'm ready. Go ahead and call up Strongeagle the Magnificent and let's get this carpet ride started."

But he sensed the hesitation in Wade, let out a sigh as he demanded, "What? What is it?"

Wade licked his lips before he plunged forward, said, "Oliver, he didn't know how badly he was hurt, wasn't used to facing death…but you know all about that, don't you?"  
"If you have a point, make it while I'm still young," Dean prodded but wasn't shutting the other man out.

"You feel yourself heading that way, even one step, you bail on this vision, come out of it screaming bloody murder if you have to …just give me something to work with, time to do _something," _Wade implored, knew he couldn't bear to helplessly hold another big brother in his arms as he faded away, even if the big brother wasn't his own_. "_Don't leave Sam the way that Oliver left me."

Dean didn't fluff off Oliver's suggestion, didn't belittle the other man's worry. Heck, he had the same misgivings and he _knew_ what the potion had in its dark depths. "I promised Sam that I would do what I could to not get killed…guess today I'm going to see if I can keep that promise."

It wasn't the rousing pledge Wade wanted but he knew that if there was any promise Dean Winchester was likely to keep in the face of incredible odds, it was a promise to his brother. Praying that he wasn't about to be a participant in a suicide, he called Strongeagle, found he was dreading even the sound of the Indian's voice because once he answered, there was no turning back.

But then Strongeagle's voice echoed from the phone into the quiet woods. "Ok, we're set up on our side."

"I'm putting you on speaker," Wade announced as he sat the phone on the ground in front of Dean before claiming a seat opposite of the ghost hunter, his heart thudding in his chest as Strongeagle ordered, "Only take of the potion when I tell you to." Then Strongeagle broke out into an Indian song the like that Wade had heard in a powwow he had attended once with a girl he hoped to romance. The romance had flickered out but the awe of the Indian heritage had stuck with him. But right then, Strongeagle's song was putting chills down his spine and the current tradition they were about to be a part of was creeping him out. It was made all the worse when Strongeagle prompted the partaking of the potion and he watched Dean dutifully swallowed the entire cup of the potion and close his eyes. But Dean muttered, "Wanikiya, hope you're in a caring, sharing kind of mood" brought a smirk to Wade's face. Yup, Dean and Oliver were definitely made out of the same cloth, both were cocky, big brothers who took on the world with a snarky comment. He just prayed Dean didn't pay the price Oliver had for those traits.

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Nathan didn't know how Sam didn't gag on the liquid manure in the cup, accounted it bravery and loyalty to his brother that Sam tilted the entire cup back onto the last drop was gone. Reaching forward, Nathan snagged the cup from Sam's grip and sat it aside, watched as Sam's eyes slid shut but the younger man remained kneeling, didn't pass out to Nathan's relief.

But as Strongeagle broke into song again, he noted the shiver that coursed through Sam, almost reached for him but Strongeagle stayed his hand, shook his head without causing a break in his song. Gritting his teeth, Nathan retracted his hand back to his lap but intently watched Sam, wondered what the other man was seeing and if it would make matters better or worse for the two brothers.

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Sam blinked against the sudden glare of sunlight, held his hand up to block the unrelenting brightness before he could see anything else. When the landscape around him suddenly took shape, it wasn't anything like the town square of Cooper Flats, was a unbroken line of prairie with high grass. Turning, his breath caught as teepees were where the town hall and post office were supposed to be. And the residents passing by him as if he didn't exist, they seemed to have stepped right out of time…or out of a western that featured Indians.

Quickly spinning around, he noted that a whole village surrounded him, an Indian village bustling with woman preparing food, making clothing, children laughing, men making bows and repairing a damaged teepee. And it felt so real. He could smell the pheasant cooking on the fire, could hear the thwack of the axes chopping down a nearby tree to complete the repairs to the teepee, could feel the wind on his face. It was real…as real as a drug induced dream could ever be. And from personal experience, he knew that it was as real as a baseball bat to his ribs, that it could be all too deadly real.

'_Concentrate on why you're here_,' he ordered of himself as he stepped forward, began searching for men who matched the pictures Strongeagle had showed him, of Paytah and of his brother. Crossing to the other side of the village, he didn't see either man so he continued on, walked to the crest of the hill and looked down to the small creek that would be hidden under a concrete bridge over two hundred years from then. But it was there that he saw a lone Indian man, kneeling on the embankment and every instinct in him said that it was Paytah.

Cautiously approaching the kneeling Indian, he wondered if Paytah would sense his presence, if he was seeing the Paytah of the past or the current one that hated his guts. But the Indian didn't make any indication that he sensed his approach, raised his voice in anger, in despair and though the words were Indian, somehow, Sam understood them, felt gutted by them as they carried on the small breeze.

"You guide my hand to unify our tribe and yet I am cursed to lose my own brother?! If the one who knows me best will not stand by me, how will the people trust me?" Paytah called out to his forefathers, begged them to give him answers that he could not find in his own soul.

In that moment, Sam understood Paytah better than he ever wanted to, knew the horrible despair of his own brother not trusting him, of thinking of him as a monster, knew the way it felt for the one person's opinion you valued the most to be the only person who seemingly found no value in you. He knew the unforgivable failure of being able to save others but not being able to save Dean. It left scars behind that there was no hope of ever fully healing.

But before he could try and reach Paytah, reason with him, the Indian quickly came to his feet and his eyes darted to the left, like Dean's did when his instincts kicked into high gear. Following Paytah's gaze, Sam held his breath, waited, knew better than Paytah did what was to come. And then the first arrow sailed into the village, struck a brave in the chest, ended the peace of the village…forever.

Paytah began running toward his village, surprisingly shouted unmistakably to Sam on his way, "Keep the women and children safe!"

Then Sam was running, was reacting on instincts too, was going to save people, like his father, his _brother_ had taught him to do all of his life. And part of him hoped that the Indian spirits were watching, would find him worthy of their respect, that they would realize that he wasn't against their people, that he didn't deserve to be separated from his brother. But another part of him knew that those same spirits had turned a deaf ear to Paytah's entreaty from a moment ago, had allowed Paytah and Wanikiya to be separated, but more than that, had allowed hatred to taint the bond that they had once shared.

'_Well then screw the spirits if they won't side with me and Dean_' he defiantly thought, knew that he and Dean had taken on heaven and hell, would take on the Indian spirit world too if they had to. Would do whatever it took to stay together.

But he got a bitter dose of the obstacles ahead for that task when an arrow nicked his arm, drew blood, proved that the danger wasn't just in his head. Sickly, he recognized that this experiment that he had emotionally blackmailed Dean into participating in held more dangers than succumbing to death camas's poisoning. '_I'm sorry for dragging you into this, Dean! Be careful you jerk and remember your promise_!' he sent out to his brother, wherever he was and then Sam was herding frightened children into a tent, doing Paytah's bidding because it was noble, because the Indian had once been noble, had once loved his people, and his brother beyond reason.

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Dean sat up with a jolt. As a hand reached out for him again, a hand that belonged to an Indian man who was kneeling over him, he skittered back a few feet in the underbrush but his retreat was cut short when his back came up against a tree trunk. Frantically searching for his gun or knife, Dean came up empty, realized just as quickly that he wasn't wearing his jeans and his button down shirt, was decked out in soft leather pants and a cloak that some animal had given up his life for, an outfit nearly identical to the Indian's.

"Who are you?" Dean gruffly demanded as if he, instead, was the one with the hatchet on his waist and the bow strapped to his back.

The Indian didn't bristle at his command but calmly made his reply. "I am Wanikiya. The spirits whispered that you were searching for me."

Dean nearly sighed in relief. Right forest, right brother and that was on his first try.

"Yeah, we have to talk about your brother," he announced as he climbed to his feet, pulled back from the worryingly tangible grip of the Indian who thought to aid him in that task. He took a step back in case Wanikiya tried to get touchy again.

"Paytah?" Wanikiya said in wonder, like he had a long list of other brothers to choose from.

"Yeah, him. He's pissed that you.." seeing the incomprehension on the Indian's face, Dean amended, "_angry_ with you for bail…._leaving_ the village and them consequently getting wiped off the face of the earth. He's getting his jollies from punishing other brothers in town like he wants to punish you for betraying him."

But Wanikiya was shaking his head, his loose long black hair blowing behind him in the mild breeze. "No, I did not betray him."

"You left," Dean harshly insisted before he forced himself to make nice with the probably powerful spirit. Pulling on a smile that Sam would know was all bullcrap, he drawled, "But we all make mistakes, right. Do things we wish we could undo. So why don't you stop in with your big brother, sort things out, make nice and go share a peyote dream in the afterlife together."

Wanikiya stepped closer to Dean and Dean forced himself to stand his ground, did it out of sheer willpower and a good measure of stupidity. When the Indian was mere inches from him, Wanikiya spoke again, "I did leave, yes. But I changed my mind, was coming back."

"Ok, sure you were…" Dean said without conviction, had heard a thousand excuses and lies in his line of work. "Well, maybe Paytah will buy that…" Dean's breath caught the next moment when the Indian's freezing hand coiled around his wrist.

"I was coming back when they attacked. I could not reach him, try as I might. I always prayed that he was spared," Wanikiya recounted, pain and regret darkening his gaze.

"Apparently the spirit in the sky wasn't listening to your prayers that day," Dean callously remarked back, trying unsuccessfully to slide his wrist from the increasingly painful grip of the Indian's all too real hand.

With intensity, Wanikiya demanded, "You must tell my brother the truth."

"I don't think he's interested in fairy tales," Dean grimly shot back, had expected more from Wanikiya than some blatant whiny 'It wasn't my fault' defense.

"Come, see," Wanikiya growled, yanked Dean forward, nearly dragged him behind him like he was a squaw he had captured from an enemy tribe, nearly causing Dean to lose his footing.

"Hold up Tonto! I'm not…" Dean raged but suddenly he was alone, shouting to an eerily quiet forest. "Oh great, do the disappearing act." He fell silent instantly at the sound of a branch breaking under a foot, of the sense he had of someone moving nearly soundlessly through the forest. Head snapping to the right, he saw that Wanikiya was there, a few hundred feet ahead of him, unmoving, as if he was torn between going or staying. "Hey, buttwipe, if you want to show me something…." Dean began but Wanikiya was tuning him out, wasn't even acknowledging that he heard him. "Hey, I'm talking to…."

Dean startled as Wanikiya seemingly came to a decision and spun around, began not walking but running back the way that he had been coming from, right by Dean without sparing so much as a glance at him. Not exactly sure if it was a smart idea, Dean took up pursuit, knew that he couldn't let the Indian ditch him without having something worthwhile to taunt old grumpy Paytah with.

Dean's inborn instincts had him suddenly pulling up to a stop, gave him the foresight to duck at seemingly nothing. … until the thunk of an arrow hitting a nearby tree made kissing the ground not at all a humiliating idea. But cowering wasn't in his nature and apparently it wasn't in Paytah's little brother's either because Wanikiya broke out in a war cry and ran toward the Indian that had stepped from behind the tree.

Wanikiya's well-placed arrow took the enemy Indian down and his hatchet sliced across another Indian's stomach before five more Indians dressed in breech cloths and wearing leather headbands with feathers standing up in back broke from their cover. To Dean's stunned surprised, two of them were unerringly heading for him, their warrior shrieks raising the hair on the back of his neck. His heart erratically skipped a beat, especially when he realized that he was unarmed and that sometimes, in dreamscapes like this one, if death came for you here, it found you in the waking world too.

'_Crap, Sam, hope you landed somewhere a lot safer than I did_,' he thought before he snagged a branch off the forest floor and ran to meet his attackers half way.

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Thanks for reading and for all of the incredible encouragement for me to keep this story coming.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	21. Chapter 21

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Here's your warning that there is violence ahead, but nothing graphic. Well, nothing the show hasn't offered up on a weekly basis since 2005.

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Chapter 21

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'_Crap, Sam, hope you landed somewhere a lot safer than I did_,' Dean thought before he snagged a branch off the forest floor and ran to meet his attackers half way.

The first Indian to reach Dean swung out with his tomahawk, the weapon's sharp blade aiming for Dean's throat.

Dean ducked under the blade's deadly arc, countered the attack by jamming the branch into the Indian's gut hard enough to double him over. Then he sent the Indian to the ground with a homerun swing to the other man's jaw before he spun on his heel…just in time to block the downward swoop of the second Indian's hatchet with the branch. But the percussion of wood impacting with wood nearly sent him to his knees, had him growling in his throat as his muscles strained to stop the hatchet's blade from inching closer to his face.

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Watching a ten year old boy stand frozen in the melee that engulfed his village, Sam ran forward, picked the boy up on the run and headed for a huddled group of terrified woman. But an Indian bearing face paint and a tomahawk poised in his right hand intercepted his path.

Quickly settling the boy down, Sam ordered, "Run!" before he stepped between the warrior and the child, was starkly aware in that moment that he was weaponless…and that strangely enough, he wasn't wearing a shirt, was clad only in soft deerskin pants. '_If Dean saw me like this, he'd never let me live it down_,' he distractedly thought before the Indian charged forward with a battle shriek.

Mindful of the very real danger of the Indian's weapon, Sam caught his attacker by the wrist, halted the weapon's decent into his skull and swept his foot under the Indian's. Even as the Indian fell, Sam was prying the tomahawk from his grasp, used it the next second to take its previous owner's life. Instinctively snapping his head up, he saw that he was surrounded by three other braves.

They simultaneously charged for him.

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Dean, instead of continuing to try and counter the strength of the Indian as he tried to imbed the hatchet into his face, used the other man's strength to his advantage. Jerking left, he pulled instead of pushed on the branch, caused the Indian to stumble forward and Dean promptly tackled his opponent low with his shoulder, sent the warrior flipping over him to land on his back on the ground. Not giving his attacker a chance to get up, Dean slammed his elbow into the Indian's face, pulled the hatchet from his weakened grasp and sank the stone blade into his chest.

Dean almost flinched as the first Indian, who was gaining his feet, let out an enraged battle cry before coming at him. Pulling the hatchet from his first kill, Dean deftly sent the primitive weapon sailing through the air, into the charging Indian's throat, killing him before his body hit the ground.

Quickly covering the distance to the dead Indian, Dean retrieved the weapon, finally had the time to search out Wanikiya. He watched in admiration as the Sioux Indian nimbly stepped inside the swing of his opponent's hatchet and deftly sliced his tomahawk into his foe's chest. Wanikiya didn't falter as another Indian attacked from behind, simply dropped to a crouch so the thrown tomahawk passed harmlessly over his head. Then he went on the offensive, tackled the other Indian to the ground and stood up a moment later, his blade bloody and the Ojibway dead at his feet.

Then Wanikiya's eyes met Dean's and Dean instinctively clutched onto the handle of his claimed weapon tighter, wasn't sure if he was about to do battle with the guy he hoped to lead an intervention with his big brother in about three hundred years from then. But Wanikiya jerked his head to the west, the way he had come from and was set on returning to. "Come. Our village is under attack." Without waiting for Dean's response, the Sioux took off at a full out run, desperation to save his village and his brother.

And Dean didn't know if the books had it right, if the village was lost, no matter what, if he could change history, if he was really even in the past and if events were susceptible to change, but what he did know was a village was under attack, that Wanikiya was set on trying to save it and that Wanikiya's brother was in that village, was about to die. And Sam might be there too, might be trapped in the same bloody, frightening western he was.

That grim possibility had Dean breaking into a run, quickly gaining Wanikiya's side and adopting the same urgency, the same deep rooted resolve to not lose his brother, regardless of the odds.

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Though three against one wasn't great odds, Sam had faced worse, did so now with the skill and determination of a warrior in his own right. Throwing the tomahawk, he didn't even bother to track its trajectory, to see his closest opponent fall to the ground, was too busy skittering back out of the wide murderous swing of a hatchet.

The third Indian wasn't as elegant, simply tackled him hard to the ground.

But grappling up close and personal was where Sam felt right at home. After all, it was how he had started to hone his hunting skills..by wrestling with Dean when they were kids. Easily shooting a hand out and deflecting the Ojibway Indian's knife thrust from its intended target of his windpipe, he didn't even wince when the blade skimmed by his forearm before sinking into the ground. Coiling his hand around the Indian's throat, he began cutting off his oxygen, didn't lessen his hold as the Indian tried to pry his merciless grip loose but instead unleashed a left jab into the Indian's gut. As the Indian nearly slumped against him, Sam rolled him off of him onto the ground, sent the back of his fist into his face and, taking the weapon from his nerveless fingers, he climbed to his feet. He didn't have time to think when the third Indian came at him, simply drove the tomahawk's deadly blade into the other man's stomach.

Watching a moment as the Indian sank to the ground, Sam refocused on the village around him, didn't see the boy he had saved or even the women anymore, spared a moment to hope that they were somewhere safe. Then his eyes scanned the fray, tried to shut off his emotions as he watched Indians fighting Indians. Finally he saw Paytah, engaged in hand to hand combat with two braves. He was bleeding heavily from a wound on his chest but he was still striking out at his foes with a bright, unquenchable rage that Sam could feel even from a distance. Rage at the carnage around him, at the loss of lives that he had swore to keep safe, at his brother's absent, at his brother betrayal.

The breath caught in Sam's throat. He knew then how it felt: to be the one left behind. To have your world shattering and believing that the one person who could make it all better was gone, had abandoned you, had purposefully, decisively, cold heartedly turned his back on you and left you to die.

'_Just like I did to Dean when I went to Stanford, when I left him to find Dad and he had to take on the scarecrow himself, left him vulnerable to Gordon's capture, Zachariah's apocalyptic 2014 ride, and I left him to his own devises to make friggin' deals at cross roads and with old Death himself_.'

A hundred bad choices and his brother had forgiven him all of them. And Sam knew in his heart that Dean would always forgive him…just like he would forgive his big brother any transgressions. That they were not like Paytah, would never be able to hate each other, no matter how many lives were lost by their mistakes, even if the life lost turned out to be their own.

But watching Paytah now, Sam recognized the embers of the hatred that would lead Paytah's soul to seek revenge instead of peace. Who would hate his brother for one failing, instead of remembering the love he once bore for him, the pride he had in him for his hundreds of accomplishments. Not because of the death toll but because his brother had done the most unthinkable, unforgiveable thing: he had left him.

'_And Paytah wanted me to know how that felt, to not have Dean at my side, for Dean to leave me …and never plan on coming back._' Cursing, Sam felt his own rage flare, knew how close Paytah was to getting his wish, of making that a reality, of permanently keeping Dean away from him. And somehow, he had to stop it, had to use this vision to break Paytah's grip on him and Dean. But killing Paytah in the vision wouldn't stop anything, he was destined to die right here, right now, would become the vengeful spirit he was in Sam's time. No, Paytah wasn't the answer, Dean was.

'_I need to find Dean here. If we connect here, do what Paytah and Wanikiya couldn't do…' _Sam theorized, had to interrupt his own thoughts as an Indian charged him from behind. Even as he defended himself, he forlornly realized there was one small hiccup in his plan: he didn't know where Dean was.

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Nathan leaned closer to Sam, watched as the younger man's body shivered in its kneeling stance and had to fight the urge to drape his coat over Sam's shoulders to give him more warmth. Shooting a worried look to Strongeagle, Nathan instantly knew it was no use trying to read the Indian's expression, not when he seemed to be immersed in his Indian mumbo jumbo, was belting out his lilting Indian song, his eyes closed and his face impassive.

Turning his attention back to Sam, Nathan studied the man for other outward signs of distress. He cursed when his inspection fell to Sam's left hand, saw that blood was slowly dripping from Sam's sleeve down to the back of his hand. "He's bleeding!" Nathan spat, fear, worry and anger clutching at him as he latched onto Sam's shoulders, gave the unresponsive man a shake, trying to bring him back to the here and now. But Sam's head limply rolled back then forward with the motion, his chin ending up motionlessly resting against his own chest. Sparing a glare over his shoulder at the stunned Strongeagle, who had abruptly cut off his singing, Nathan commanded, "Bring him out of this!"

"I can't," Greg stammered, the excitement of his viable connection to the spirits succumbing to his sudden fear. "But he can't be hurt in the vision. Was he wounded before we started?"

But it wasn't Nathan who answered, was Wade through their still activated phone connection. "Bruises, nothing open that would bleed extensively."

And Wade was already reaching for Dean, fingers going to the pulse in Dean's neck, scowling at the slow heart rate and the trembling in the other man's body. He gave Dean's cheek a light slap, "Snap out of it, Dean," but Dean didn't even blink at the abuse. Releasing Dean, Wade snatched up the empty cup that had held the potion, took a sniff and nearly recoiled at the smell. Pouncing on the cell phone on the ground, he stabbed the key to take it off speaker before he growled to Strongeagle, "What did you give them?!" at Strongeagle's beat of silence, he shouted, "What was in the potion!?"

"Nothing that would cause bleeding," Greg insisted, but he sent a guilty look to Nathan, who immediately recognized it.

"But there was something in it that Sam didn't want me to know about, wasn't there," Nathan menacingly surmised, hadn't missed Sam's deflection earlier, had simply let it pass because he thought it wasn't his business. But now it was all his business. Slipping his hands from Sam, who miraculously remaining in his upright kneeling position, Nathan turned fully to their resident Indian and snarled, "Tell me what you gave them before I beat it out of you."

"Death camas. But it's in low doses…" Greg quickly reassured.

Though Nathan didn't know the ingredient, the herb's name said pretty much about its dangers. Wade's reaction said a whole lot more.

"Death camas! Are you trying to kill them?! We need to get them to a hospital, now!" Wade barked through the phone lines, ready to click off the connection so he could make the 911 call.

"No!" Strongeagle shouted, fear and certainty giving him the strength to assert himself against the strong-willed deputy and medic. "You force them out of the trance, they might die!"

"You gave them poison!" Wade thundered, his hand nearly crushing the phone in his grip even as he wished it was Strongeagle's windpipe that he was crushing.

"Poison doesn't cause bleeding!" Greg shouted back, had to get through to Wade and Nathan, had to make them understand what they were dealing with. When the deputy and the medic didn't make a comeback to his declaration, he exhaled, swallowed hard and tried to rationalize as best he could something he didn't know if he believed himself. "Wade, you said Sam wasn't hurt before but he's bleeding now. And I think…" his eyes rose again to Nathan's, "…it's because he was wounded in the vision."

"In the vision…" Nathan drawled, watched as Greg gave a nonverbal nod of his head. "Like dreaming I cut myself and then…."

Wade picked up Nathan's line of thought, finished it, "…I woke up with a cut. But how is that possible?"

Running a not so steady hand through his hair, Strongeagle gave a trembling laugh. "Don't know. Course I didn't really believe in ghosts before either."

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Dean could hear the shouts now, the war cries, the all too familiar sound of metal against metal, of weapon against weapon. The screams of agony rebounding off the trees reminded him of the unrelenting echoes of that same sound in the vastness of Hell. And underneath it all, the cold presence of death stalked.

But the arrow that came out of the woods was soundless, gave no telltale warning.

At first all Dean registered was that Wanikiya was no longer at his side, no longer paced his desperate speed. Then he heard the gurgle of pain, and slid on the leaves as he made his stop, turned to see the Sioux warrior on the ground, an arrow protruding from his chest, his hands fisting into the leaves in agony.

Scampering back to the fallen Indian's side, Dean crouched beside him, knew the wound was fatal, in Wanikiya's world as well as his own. One look at Wanikiya's eyes told him that the Indian knew he was dying, had only a few breaths yet. Reaching out, he grasped Dean's forearm, used the last of his strength to speak.

"Paytah, my brother…tell him I tried to come back. That I was….coming back to him. He must know this," Wanikiya wheezed out, his fingers already losing their strength and his eyes dimming.

"I'll tell him," Dean reassured but his words did not reach Wanikiya, not in the world of the living. Cursing, Dean reached out, shut Wanikiya's unseeing eyes and grimly took possession of the dead Indian's hatchet before standing up. Sensing imminent danger, he pressed himself against the nearest tree trunk, saw an arrow zing past where he was moments before.

Steeling himself against the fight to come, Dean stepped out from the cover and ran for the trees ahead, let out a grunt of pain as an arrow seared across his thigh but didn't let it hamper his pace. He had a village to save and a message to pass onto a stubborn, hate blinded big brother.

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Nathan didn't bother debating the incredibility of the situation, simply dove into the solutions. "Ok, so they are in the vision and they can get hurt in there and then out here. So we need them to wake up. You need to do some chant, bring them both out of this trance thingy," he directed to Strongeagle.

But Strongeagle was shaking his head. "You heard what I told them. I can't bring them out, only they can do that."

"If I had the right drugs, adrenaline, some nice cocktail of amphetamines…" Wade began to strategize.

"It's not about the physical," Strongeagle contradicted. "It's about the spirit, the soul. The body is only one small part of who we are and sure, you might get their bodies to react but what if you sacrifice their spirits doing that."

"I'm not the one who put their lives at risk!" Wade shouted back, enraged that Strongeagle wanted to give him a lecture about putting Dean and Sam in danger, about sacrificing them.

Nathan interrupted the fray. "They knew about the poison, didn't they?" he asked of Strongeagle.

"Yes. I told them the risks…that sometimes the death camas killed the shaman who had the vision," but the disclosure didn't make Greg feel any better, it didn't seem to mean that much in the light of present happenings. "But I never heard of anything like this, wounds manifesting on them."

"What the …" Wade muttered as he watched a stain start to spread on the right leg of Dean's jeans right above the knee. Reaching out to touch the demin, he closed his eyes as he recognized the liquid now on his finger tips. "Dean's bleeding now too." As he stripped off his jacket, he chastised himself, '_I just knew I should have brought my medic bag. Apparently friggin' Dean Winchester can't do anything without nearly getting himself killed.' _And then he shrugged out of his shirt, folded it up and pressed it against the unseen wound on Dean's leg. "So great Indian, what do you suggest we do?! Sit here and watch them get gutted in some dreamscape you talked them into stepping into?!" Wade harshly directed to the Indian on the other side of the phone's speakers.

Greg was so far out of his league, that even he knew it. "There's no precedence for this."

"_Precedence_?!" Wade acidly repeated back, ticked that the Indian was going all college professor on him.

Hoping to diffuse the battle, Nathan interjected, "Ok, so we make it up as we go. Wade, what's the effects of death camas?"

"In low does, vomiting, decrease in blood pressure, weakness," Wade recited before his voice dropped to a level of desolation. "In large doses…seizure, coma…death. " Giving the unresponsive Dean a glare worthy of medusa, he muttered, "Dean, how could you take this risk?! Let Sam take this risk?!"

Nathan answered in Dean's stead. "Because Sam asked him to."

And suddenly Wade understood that it worked both ways, that yes, big brothers had this awe inspiring effect over their little brothers but little brothers had their own brand of manipulation that worked like a charm on soft older brothers. Like Oliver…like Dean. '_Crap, Sam. You might have just gotten Dean killed…and yourself_.' "They shouldn't have taken the risk!" he accused, his anger now seeping over to Sam.

But Nathan chose to remain the voice of reason. "It was their choice, Wade. Not ours. They went into this knowing full well it could end badly. They did it because they saw no other choice. Tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing if you thought you could have saved Oliver?"

Wade hung his head, knew that he would have done it in a heartbeat, that Oliver would have done it with him, if he asked in that little brother pleading tone he had perfected at age five. Knowing that didn't make it any easier to helplessly sit back and watch Dean and Sam tempt death. "Doesn't mean I have to approve of this."

Nathan smirked, that was his heart-on-his sleeve-over protective best friend for him. "I'm sure your disapproval will just ruin Dean's day," he drawled, enjoyed Wade's snort in response. "Now I say we sit tight, let them do their thing and _when_ they snap out it, you can rip them a new one while we patch them up."

Wade couldn't hold back a small smile. "Aren't you suddenly the rational one? That's annoying, you know that, right?"

"A man of the law does not panic," Nathan quoted his often self-proclaimed motto.

"Rrriigght," Wade sarcastically agreed. "Maybe you forget, but a second ago you were screaming at ole Strongeagle to bring them out of this trance like a freaked out mother of two boys and threatening to dish out a beat down if he didn't tell you the ingredients of the potion."

"That wasn't panic, that was determination," Nathan corrected but he was already turning concerned eyes to Strongeagle, "Can we move them? I want to stop the bleeding awhile."

And Wade remembered sharply why he and Nathan hit if off so well from the start: because they were both stubborn, opinioned, smart mouthed jerks …who were softies at heart. Who would do whatever they could to help someone in pain and prevent further pain. They weren't so different from Sam and Dean…and maybe that was another reason the brothers had blown by his barriers, meant more to him that two guys who hadn't been in a town even a week should mean to him.

Reaching up with his right hand, Wade cupped Dean's slack face, wished the man would wake up. He gave a soft reprimand anyway. "I told you to come out of it if you thought things were going south, well you bleeding is definitely not going in a northern direction, stupid."

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Having gotten ahead of the Indians positioned in the forest, Dean came up short at the butchery playing out on every inch of the village. Bodies lay among the combatants, tripping them up but not stopping them. Dean doubted anything short of a nuclear bomb could make either side even blink. From his vantage point, he scourged the impromptu arena for Paytah, found the Sioux chief just in time to watch a Ojibwa brave plunge a knife in his chest and follow it up with a clean slice across Paytah's throat.

Horrified, Dean watched his chance to rectify Paytah's feelings about his little brother die. '_And what does that mean for Sam and I?'_

As if that thought managed to conjure up his brother, he heard Sam shouting his name, looked across the crazed kill zone to see Sam on the other side of the village. He was so happy to see Sam that he nearly missed the frantic panic in Sam's voice, the warning. Wholly trusting Sam, he dropped to the ground and rolled, missed being a piñata for the brave's hatchet by mere inches. Kicking the brave in the face, he launched himself from the ground, embedded his hatchet into flesh.

Sam swallowed hard, had almost found Dean only to lose him the next moment. He watched with relief and admiration as Dean dispatched his attacker, then Dean turned and gave him a cocky smirk of 'I had it under control'. Sam nearly rolled his eyes at his brother's bravado, would have too if he wasn't so friggin' found of the guy, swagger and all. But then Dean's attention was stolen away from him, was rightful resettled on the 250+ year old Indians who wanted to kill them simply because they were there.

The next Indian that came for him, Sam struck down with one upward swing of the tomahawk, and then he simply kept moving forward. Quickly, almost carelessly, he took out the braves that dared to get in his path, to slow him down from getting to his brother's side, right where he belonged, where he always belonged.

Dean didn't mind the close quarters battle, was best at it, could slice and chop and thrust as if it were all one motion, like the weapon in his hand was a part of him, had always been a part of him. He didn't count the bodies he dropped, barely registered their faces, kept stealing glances across the way to Sam, Sam who was making his own bloody path toward him and his party.

'_We're doing this, we can survive this_,' Sam permitted himself to finally believe now that only twenty yards separated him from Dean, because, if he and Dean could get back to back, nothing was going to take them down. Nothing had so far and nothing would.

And then fate stepped in, proved to him all over again that what he wanted didn't matter.

He didn't even see the blow that took Dean down, only saw that his brother was falling. He was screaming "Dean!" even as he watched a brave push his way through the other fighters, his bow lowered now that he had made his incredible shot. Sickly, Sam knew where the brave was headed, straight for Dean who was on the ground, was trying to get up..with a friggin' arrow piercing his side.

In horrible dismay, Sam knew the brave was going to reach Dean before he did, realized too that he couldn't hope to throw the hatchet he had with any accuracy at that distance, not when fighters came in and out of his line of fire. And a resounding "NO!" bubbled out of him because he wasn't going to let this happen, wasn't going to lose Dean like he had before, wasn't going to let Bobby have facetime with his brother, wasn't going to let Dean be the one to leave this go around. Impassively letting the hatchet slip from his hand, he stalked across the village, bent down to a fallen Sioux warrior and yanked his bow from under his dead weight.

Always keen to death stalking him, Dean looked up, saw the warrior that approached, read the set look on his face and knew the Indian craved his blood, and it wasn't encouraging at all to note it wasn't in a vampire type of way. He knew first hand that hatred and revenge, they were sometimes more monster than anything not human. '_Get off the ground_!' he screamed at himself but he couldn't get up, didn't have to look at the arrow in his side to know that his body was in agony, that his limbs were weak. He resorted to scrambling backwards using his legs until he came up against another body, an obstacle he couldn't back over.

As a last ditch effort, he sent the tomahawk spinning through the air, but the brave timely ducked and then stalked more confidently forward.

'_I'm gonna die in some 'dances with wolves' dreamscape_,' Dean realized and his eyes diverted from the brave's and sought out the tall figure he had protected his whole life. '_And Sam's gonna be there to watch. Don't look Sam,_' he cautioned because, even if Sam never spoke about it, Dean knew Sam had nightmares about his hell hound death, that it etched something dark on his brother's soul, seeing his big brother die like that, bloody. Before Sam looked his way, before he could convey any last messages to his brother, the brave towered over him, snagging his attention, nearly blocking out the sun. Then the brave sighted another arrow at him, this time up front and personal.

But before the Indian could let it fly…he toppled forward, an arrow in his back.

Eyes flying up from the dead Indian, Dean caught sight of Sam, bow still poised sans arrow in his hands. Dean couldn't help but smile at Sam. "That's my boy," he choked out before he flopped backwards, didn't care that he was reclining on a deadman.

Sam didn't expect his next breath to be nearly a chuckle, but that was his brother's fault. Jerk had the audacity to smile at him…after nearly getting himself wasted. Side stepping a few battles, Sam made his way to Dean, didn't even think about it, simply fell to his knees at his brother side and reached out, put a hand on Dean's chest, gave a panicked call of "Dean?!" Didn't give it one thought that in the real world those simple, routine, instinctive actions would not have been possible, Paytah had made sure of that.

Eyes finding Sam's, Dean wheezed out, "Great…now I hate westerns."

Knowing that Dean was playing the nonchalant card for him, Sam didn't disappoint, played along, "You always hated Dances with Wolves because you said it was too boring." Leaning carefully over Dean, Sam winced at the arrow shaft protruding from his brother's side, no sight of the arrow head buried in his brother's flesh.

"Boring…is good sometimes," Dean hissed out before he shouted in warning "Sam!"

Head snapping up, Sam almost reacted too late, barely got his arm up in time to stop the downward assault of the tomahawk, felt almost like the impact broke his arm but he didn't relent, pushed back as he stood up, delivered a right cross to the Indian, knocking him out cold. But it was a sharp reminder that they weren't out of the thick of it, that he had to take charge and get Dean clear. Turning back to Dean, he was about to mercilessly pull Dean onto his shoulder and carry him out of the village but a brave tackled him, sent him tripping over Dean to land on the ground with jarring agony.

Sam vaguely realized that he didn't get the Indian off him, Dean did, with a well-placed kick to the brave's head. Intent on resuming his plan, Sam started to get up. But with a shout of surprised pain, he collapsed back onto the ground, looked to the source of his agony and saw that a knife was still buried in his shoulder, where the Indian had put it when he tackled him. '_No, no! I can't be hurt, Dean needs me_,' he vowed in frustrated, ruthlessly ripping the knife from his shoulder and dropping it on the ground.

"No, Sam…Don't…" Dean began to advise but Sam had already removed the knife, was trying to get up, unmindful of the blood surging from his wound.

But Sam didn't make it to his feet, got too lightheaded and weak and ended up crashing back to the ground. He managed to come to a leaning rest against Dean's unwounded hip. His hand trailed down from his brother's hand, wrapped around Dean's forearm and he soon felt his brother's fingers curling around his own forearm, locking them in a cemented unshakeable grip. Sam's painfilled, sorrowful eyes met Dean's, "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Not your fault," Dean resolutely assured but his next words came with more effort, revealed the level of pain he was drowning in. "Blame Paytah..or me. I wanted to take …this case."

"And I convinced you into stepping into this vision," Sam pointed out with boundless remorse, gave a wince of pain as he shifted, knew that they were sitting ducks where they were, as weaponless as they were.

But like so many times when they were backed into a seemingly dead end, Dean read his mind. "We can't win…not this battle."

"We've won the impossible before," Sam shot back, terrified of what Dean was implying, that their deaths were inevitable, that their brotherhood..was lost, was a spoil of a war that they weren't even supposed to be fighting.

But Dean gave him a bittersweet smirk. "Can't change the past, Sammy. Never…with good results," he clarified when Sam seemed ready to protest.

"I'm not going to let you die here, us die here," Sam vowed, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself to a kneeling position, reached for Dean with his other hand, and with more strength than care, he pulled Dean upright, his brother's cry of pain mingling with his own.

Realizing with harsh proof that Sam wasn't going to let him fade away, wanted him, needed him to fight with his last breath, Dean sank his teeth into his lip but remained upright, did so mostly because Sam was behind him, had him wrapped into one of his bear hugs. Fighting his body's desire to call it a day, Dean blinked away the void, took stock of their surroundings again.

The Sioux dead encompassed them, only a few battles still raged within the village. And the Ojibwa were singling out their wounded but alive foes, were starting to take trophies of a battle won. It wouldn't be long before he and Sammy drew their unwanted attention. "We can't die here, Sam."

"We're not going to," Sam growled, but made no more moves to get them on their feet, hadn't the strength to even pretend that was a possibility.

But Dean thoughts were going another direction. "We need to wake up… right now."

"You think I wouldn't wake up if I could, make all this…go away," Sam passionately replied, eyes straying to the dead around him but his thoughts only on his dying brother in his arms.

Unimaginable tired, Dean exhaled, closed his eyes, even the thought of waking up ludicrious with the lack of strength he had. "It's not like …the Djinn. The pain…it's real."

Sam soothingly replied, consciously loosening his tight embrace around Dean's torso to hopefully lessen Dean's pain. "I know. I know. Hurt's."

"Real…" Dean mumbled, shook his head, found that it had dropped back to rest on Sam's shoulder.

"Real here…real there," Sam finished Dean's thoughts.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "We die here…we die there." And he didn't want that, had given Sam a promise, had made a promise of his own. Raising his head, he shook his head again, tried to will away the fuzziness of his vision. Reaching up, he fondly patted Sam on the back of the neck, "Count of three."

"Count of three, what, Dean?!" Sam incredulous asked, tensed as he saw three braves approaching, their bloody tomahawk in hand. "They're coming."

"Wake up, count of three," Dean planned, eyes catching what Sam had, the braves thinking they needed a few white scalps to round out their collection.

"How?! Saying 'there's no place like home'?!" Sam shot back, wondered how Dean could be so matter of fact about the craziest plans.

"Don't think it…just do it..together," Dean commanded, needed Sam to stop being logical, to take a leap of faith with him…like he had done when they were kids and Sam had yet to learn to swim.

And that was the key word, together. Sam would do whatever crazy thing he had to do if they got to be that, have that. Even as the braves neared, ten yards, five, Sam began the count, "One…."

"Two," Dean shuddered out.

"Three" they said in unison and then they knew nothing else.

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Wade was half way in the process of manhandling Dean to lay down when the hunter's rigid frame became boneless, toppled right out of his hands and slumped unmoving on the ground. "Dean!" Wade shouted as he quickly checked his friend's pulse and found none. "His heart's stopped!" he called out, hoped Nathan wasn't facing the same dilemma even as he rolled Dean onto his back and started heart compressions.

But Nathan wasn't faring any better, had finally decided against moving Sam when the younger man fell to the ground on his side like he had been poleaxed. And when Nathan sought to gauge his heart rate, he got the same terrible results as Wade was reporting. "Is it the poison!?" he asked Wade through the connection as he began his own round of heart compressions.

"Doesn't usually start with heart attacks!" Wade supplied, vehemently wishing he knew the correct medical procedure to follow when someone came out of a vision quest without a heartbeat.

"I got a pulse again," Nathan reported with weak kneed relief, sitting back on his hunches, eyes on Sam's rising chest. But at no comeback from his friend, Nathan looked to the phone, bade worriedly. "Wade? Wade, is Dean…."

Nathan's good news should have encouraged Wade but it didn't, not when Dean's heart was stubbornly refusing to beat and the medic was upsettingly aware that blood was leaking onto the ground, and it wasn't from the minor wound on Dean's thigh. "Come on! You promised Sam that you wouldn't get yourself killed. Sam found the strength to come back and it wasn't to see Nathan's rugged good looks. It was for you! So suck it up, I don't care how far you're gone, you have a brother who needs you. And I know that means something you." He ended his tirade with a resounding slap to Dean's face, thought it was all in vain…until Dean wheezed out a painful breath.

"He's back!" Wade exclaimed, hand resting on Dean's chest and head bowed in utter relief. "Sam, he kept his promise."

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the wonderful welcome back you all gave this story last chapter!

Now that you know that our boys are still kicking, I can wish you all a great day!

Cheryl W.


	22. Chapter 22

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Well my family has decided to pass the stomach bug around like Christmas presents so I wasn't able to get as far along in this chapter as I had hoped. But I thought I would give you what I have and hope you don't lynch me for its shortness or the only peripheral presence of our boys. Sorry!

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Chapter 22

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It wasn't a surprise to Nathan to see Wade pacing the gurney at Dean's side when Phil and the other medic rolled the unconscious Dean through the ER doors. Nor did it take a lot of detective work to figure out what was going through his friend's head: the memories of losing his own brother. When Wade made as if to follow Dean right into the ER examination room, Nathan snagged Wade's arm, thought he was going to be a recipient of another punch when his friend's furious eyes slammed into his.

But before Wade spoke, Nathan imparted, "Sam's not awake yet but they discovered a deep puncture wound in his shoulder and two lacerations on his arm."

That brought some semblance of rationale back to Wade, made him remember that Dean was Sam's brother, not his, that Dean would want his brother taken care of, that Dean's first words would absolutely be a demand to know if his brother was alright. And Wade wanted to be the one to give him good news.

Letting his muscles relax in Nathan's hold, Wade nodded, murmured, "Okay."

Relieved at Wade's decision to not swing at him, Nathan hated to pose his next question but couldn't smother his own worry without assistance. "Dean, how's he?"

Wade rubbed a weary hand down his face. That was the question of the day. "Worst is a deep wound on his side. I tried to pack it but…." Pulling out of Nathan's grip and turning his back on his friend, he stared sightlessly at the ER waiting room.

After Dean stopped screwing around and his heart had started again, Wade had sought out the source of the blood soaking the ground, had lifted Dean's shirt, located the wound and promptly and explicitly heaped curses on Dean's head as well as Sam's and Strongeagle's. Changing priorities, he had pulled his rolled up shirt from Dean's thigh and pressed it hard against the new, more serious wound, knowing all the while that he had to stop the bleeding or Dean's vow to Sam would be in vain. "But the blood kept pumping out, like the death camas were acting like friggin' blood thinners."

Carrying two cups of coffee, Greg Strongeagle chose that inopportune moment to return to the waiting area.

Instantly Wade's blue eyes went from anguished to furious and he shoulder checked Nathan as he made a beeline for Strongeagle. "This is on you!" he snarled, menacingly pointing his finger to Strongeagle while his right hand fisted, aching to land a blow.

But Nathan dodged in Wade's path, physically held his friend back from assaulting the Indian in front of fifty witnesses. "Wade, don't!"

"If either of them doesn't make it, I will forget all about my Hippocratic oath," Wade venomously volleyed across Nathan's shoulder, eyes boring into Greg's, assuring him that it wasn't an empty threat.

"Strongeagle, get out of here. Now!" Nathan commanded even as he shoved Wade back another step, worried that his friend would be more than willing to sacrifice his paramedic career if it meant getting the opportunity to plummet Strongeagle.

Not needing to be told twice, Greg stumbled back a step, sat the coffee cups on a chair and resignedly made his way out of the ER. His grandfather had never prepared him for this, any of this. For lives…futures to be at stake. For the weight of the consequences of his gifts when they were unleashed.

Grabbing Wade's jaw, Nathan jerked his friend's face back to focus on him, not the retreating Indian. "Get it together or take a walk."

Certain that he had as much right to be there as Nathan, _more_, Wade snarled in outrage, "I'm not leaving!" Then, giving Nathan's chest a shove, he broke the hold the other man had on him. Nathan took a step toward him, as if he sought to trap him again in his hold, or keep him pinned in a corner so he couldn't strike out at any innocent bystanders.

"Listen, we did what we could, Wade. We got them to a hospital…" Nathan said but knew by the anguish that flooded his friend's features that it wasn't good enough, might not end up being good enough at all. He stepped closer, not to corner Wade now but to console him, softly offered up what comfort he could, "They didn't quit, Wade. Not yet. So I say we don't quit on them either, alright. They don't seem the type you should count out…ever."

Wade had to give a small smile at that statement. "No, they don't."

Nathan returned the gesture, put his arm around his friend's shoulders and pulled him close. "Now, how about you sit your butt down in a chair before I have to arrest you for assault, disturbing the peace and generally making me crazy."

Wade complacently allowed Nathan to lead him to a chair, didn't miss the fact that the guy two chairs down with a head wound got up and moved to the other side of the room. When Nathan sank into the chair beside him, they exchanged looks and both smirked. Nathan nodded to the man who had retreated to safer territory. "See, he's scared of you. A temper isn't the most soothing thing to witness in a medic."

Directing a warning finger at Nathan, Wade warned, "Do _not_ start on that 'a-man-of-the-law-doesn't-lose-his-temper' stuff because I've had to patch up people who came up against your temper… and lost." Sensing the defense Nathan would try and make, he quickly countered, "And no, it wasn't in the line of duty."

That shut Nathan up.

Giving a capitulating shrug, Nathan settled back into the cushioned chair in the ER's waiting area, softly allowed, "Alright."

But Wade didn't like the silence, broke it a moment later as he leaned back in his chair, rested his head on the wall behind him. "Next time I get attached to someone that reminds me of Oliver, just punch me."

"Ok," Nathan readily agreed. But at the glare he received from Wade, he incredulously shot back, "Oh, you think I was going to need convincing?!"

"Would have been nice if you showed some reluctance," Wade grouchily mumbled.

Instead of a comeback, Nathan fell silent, gave a nervous look to the hallway where both Winchester brothers had disappeared from his sight.

Nathan's sudden silence and worried scowl gave Wade some small notion of how all this was affecting his friend. "I know what happened with Josh and Brendal rattled you," Wade carefully began, ignored the keepouts that Nathan's sudden eye contact were shouting. "That you lost some faith in people…in your ability to judge people's character, but we know now that Brendal wasn't himself, was being influenced by Paytah. Didn't kill his little brother." He felt marginally better when Nathan gave a solemn nod of acceptance at the new conclusions.

Eyes again on that hallway, Nathan soberly said, his voice hoarse, "Still, Josh is dead and Brendal's got to live with the knowledge that the last words between them were hateful ones, that he attacked his brother, stabbed him." Nathan shook his head at the thought of that unbearable weight on his friend. "And I've got to live with the knowledge that there's stuff out there that I can't arrest, that doesn't fit in some safe box of right and wrong, that won't be trapped behind a set of iron bars. That things like what happened with Sam out there…" Nathan's eyes did a hit and run with Wade's and then they dropped to his hands, hands that were stained with Sam's blood. "Wade, I couldn't help Sam. Sat there and watched him bleed out. And I got it… how it feels to not be able to save someone that you care about." His eyes shooting up to Wade's, he hurriedly backtracked, though he didn't see any reproach in his friend's gaze. "But not like what you want through, not like losing a brother."

Wade exhaled, nodded his head, bit his lip a moment to compose himself before he agreed, "It's an experience I never wanted to have again, is why I became a medic, to make sure I knew what to do, could tell myself that I did whatever I could to save a life. But today…" he paused, held Nathan's gaze, "it happened again."

"Wade, you said it yourself: Oliver didn't blame you for not saving him. And Dean…he's more likely to tease you about having a god-complex than chew you out for not patching him up like new in the middle of the forest," Nathan counseled, was glad to get a small chuckle of agreement from Wade.

"Probably." And Wade could almost hear Dean giving him just that kind of smart aleck retort. "And Nathan, this whole 'stuff out there that you can't arrest' worry, I know the Winchesters will happily give you a crash course on how to take down ghosts. And I guarantee you, it wouldn't be at all zen like that Fred Pryor seminar we had to take the other year."

Nathan snorted, gave his friend a rueful grin. "You mean the seminar that the instructor asked us to leave, even offered to reimburse us the ninety nine bucks registration fee if we would please exit the premises?"

Wade sat up straighter in his chair, defended, "Hey, we were simply giving her class other avenues of problem resolution than mediating and '_believing that you can do something is the first step of giving yourself the power to do_'. It's all hooey."

Nathan was about to give a wicked comeback when he surged out of the chair to greet his boss. "Chief, I didn't know…"

"Two supposed Federal Agents rushed to the hospital with stab wounds and poisoning and you think that news doesn't cross my desk?!" Chief Fox challenged Nathan before he stabbed his finger in the younger man's chest. "I should have heard about this from you, _Deputy_."

"Yes, sir, I should have …we just…' Nathan stammered before he faltered, "I wasn't thinking very clearly, sir."

But the chief took notice of the blood on his deputy's hands, read the worry on Nathan's unusually haggard features and had mercy on his department's best man. "Alright, alright. Let's have a sit down and you can catch me up."

Trailing in the chief's wake, Nathan gave Wade a beseeching look to which Wade sighed and followed his friend. In for a pinch in for a pound. Whatever brimstone the chief thought he wanted to rain down on Nathan, Wade was going to make it clear that he and Nathan were a united front, that they were in this together and they would take the lumps to go with that decision. Drawing even with Nathan, he gave his friend a wink, to which Nathan elbowed him in the gut.

But as Wade passed the nurse's station, he signaled Patricia, the nurse on duty, that he was heading to the employee lounge. She gave him a nod, silently assured him that any news on his two friends' condition and she would come find him. And that was the most Wade could do at the moment, the rest was up to Dean and to Sam. The real fight was still theirs. Had always been theirs.

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Nathan didn't think he had ever had a more vicious chewing out since he had taken his father's car out for a joy ride…when he was fourteen. But unlike his father, the chief hadn't grounded him…or fired him. Had done something entirely unexpected. After hearing their harrowing ordeal with Sam and Dean's heart stopping when they came out of the vision, the mad scramble to get them to the hospital, Chief Fox had reached out and not slapped Nathan's face but given it an affectionate, encouraging pat. "Hey you did good, kiddo." Shot a glance to Wade, "Both of you," before he pulled back, sighed and told them in no uncertain terms that he would throw he and Wade in jail if they didn't keep him clued in on whatever the brothers chose to do next, no matter how weird..or against the law.

It wasn't an oath Nathan felt all that ready to fulfill. Especially sitting in the hospital room chair beside a unnervingly vulnerable Dean Winchester. Betraying a man who, unconscious, didn't elude any of his danger vibes…simply looked like a thirty year old man who was an unhealthy shade of white, had a heart monitor making the occasional adjustment in the corner and a swatch of white bandages around his torso hiding a life threatening wound by an undetermined weapon …that didn't feel like the right thing to do. Not to mention Nathan couldn't help but think that Dean didn't look all that capable of doing _anything_ next.

Nathan's voice was hoarser than he expected when he spoke, interrupted the silence of the hospital room, "Sam hasn't woken up yet either…but he will. His wound wasn't as severe as yours and he was closer to the hospital so…." He shifted in the chair, suddenly didn't feel all that comfortable filling the void. "But if he wakes up and you're not ….ok, he will seriously flip out. I know he can come off all…I can take care of myself…but he needs you. And anyone that tries to keep him away from you…" he gave a chuckle. "I have it on good authority that he has a killer right hook," absently rubbing his bruised eye. "Not to mention Wade has practically made you his new BBF. Not that I'm jealous…well, maybe a little but I know it's different than what he and I have. We're …equals, but you…you remind him of Oliver. In a good way…most of the time." Leaning forward, hoping to see some reaction in the older Winchester's features, Nathan earnestly imparted, "Wade, he can't lose you too. Not the way he lost Oliver, with him….helpless to save you. See so between Sam and Wade, you have no choice but to snap out of this."

But when that speech didn't even earn him a flicker of movement from Dean, Nathan sighed, ran his hand through his hair. "You're not a quitter, that's what I told Wade. And I'm not wrong, I know I'm not wrong. I get that you might doubt yourself but I know…I know you would never quit on someone who needs you, would never quit on your brother."

Minutes later, Nathan nearly ran into Wade as he stepped out of Dean's room.

Nodding toward the room's interior, Wade worriedly asked, "How is he?"

"No changes," Nathan regretfully announced, was a bit surprised Wade didn't head in and see Dean for himself but instead his friend started heading down the hallway. It didn't require any of his tools of stealth to follow him around the U shaped corridor of the ward to the other side… right to Sam's room. Both entered the room on a mission and came up short at the end of Sam's bed: disappointed. Sam wasn't awake, hadn't moved a centimeter on his own either.

"Is it natural, neither of them waking up yet?" Nathan quietly asked, eyes on Sam before flickering to Wade's.

"Natural?" Wade snorted, shot Nathan a hot glare. "Natural for downing poisons, having a vision that inflicts wounds on them, that kind of natural?" Seeing Nathan shake his head, get geared up to try to calm him down, Wade exhaled, sank into the visitor chair, eyes on Sam instead of Nathan.

Nathan braced himself, pulled his shoulders back and then said what he had been thinking. "Like it or not, Strongeagle might have answers we need."

Wade's eyes shut up to his in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind? You want him to come in here and do some…some rain dance over them."

Nathan stepped closer to Wade, towered over him, drawled, "What I want…is for them to be Ok. Anyway that happens…is fine with me. Don't let pride…."

"You think that's what this is?! My pride?" Wade snapped, saw by the look in Nathan's eyes that that was exactly what his friend thought. And that cut his retort off mid- inhale. "No…I…Nathan you believe in the law to make things…to set even the most awful things right. Well, I believe in medicine, in science, in tests and medication and treatments to save people."

Nathan felt a twinge of pain for his friend, knew that his beliefs were being shaken as much as his own. Claiming a chair beside Wade, he looked at his hands instead of his friend. "The law I believe in so much…has Brendal in jail for killing his brother." Then he raised his focus to Wade, saw the resignation and bitter acceptance creeping across his friend's features.

"And you're saying my medicine is going to fail too," Wade bit out, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Alright, call him. Call Strongeagle."

To Strongeagle's credit, he answered on the first ring. "Hello."

"Strongeagle this is Nathan."

"How are they?" Strongeagle instantly shot back, something close to panic in his tone.

"Alive but neither one is regaining consciousness. And Wade and I…." Nathan began, saw the scowl on Wade's features and amended, "Well, no, it was more just me…. I thought you might need to do something else…you know, to get them to wake up, finish the ritual, whatever."

"No …I . Once they entered the vision, I had no influence. I didn't bring them out of it, they did."

"Their hearts stopped! That how most of your guided vision quests end?!" Wade sneered, rolled his eyes when Nathan raised a hand up to order him to silence.

"What do you think, I do this every weekend! This is new for me too?!" Strongeagle shot back.

"Great, the blind leading the blind. You didn't mention that before you drugged them, did you?!" Wade accused causing Nathan with frustration to hit the speaker off and switched to holding the phone to his ear.

"Strongeagle, stop with the excuses. Either you know something to bring them around or you don't?" Nathan growled into the phone. The Indian's sigh didn't fill Nathan with encouragement.

"I've been looking, ok. Everything I know, everything I've read, says it's up to them. That it's their choice on whether or not they return to the life they have."

However, Nathan detected hesitation in Strongeagle's statement. "But?"

"Paytah, he wouldn't want them to."

Even the mention of the Indian ghost's name put a chill down Nathan's spine, made him reconsider and put the phone back on speaker so Wade could hear Strongeagle.. "Thought Sam and Dean had the vision so Paytah couldn't screw with them anymore, that the ancestral "judge spirits" would rule in their favor."

"And I think they did rule in the Winchesters' favor."

"This doesn't look like much of a victory," Wade sarcastically interjected, gave Nathan a sheepish, 'right, shutting up' expression to quell his friend's irk at him.

"I think Paytah no longer cares what the old ones want. He is too driven, too full of hate to adhere to their rulings, especially when it comes to these two brothers who put his own relationship with Wanikiya to shame."

"So he is keeping Sam and Dean unconscious?" Wade hazarded without as much skepticism as he would have expected from himself.

"I don't know about unconscious but he would want to keep them separated. No, I think them not waking up has more to do with whatever happened in the vision. It was traumatic enough to wound them for real, to nearly kill them. Coming out of that level of vision…it can't be simple. Some talk about the way from a vision as being a dark path, that the only way they found their way back was their need to be in the land of the living again, to be returned to their family."

"The only family Dean and Sam have is each other," Nathan stated, understood then how small the brothers' world was, the importance they held in each other's lives.

"Maybe they are together in the vision," Strongeagle guessed, like that was a comforting thought.

"And what, so they won't fight to wake up, be alive, then? No! I'm not letting them be skip along together in some comatose state until they both meet their maker in the sky." Wade purposefully ignored Nathan's teasingly mouthing "skip along" and theorized. "All we need to do is to get one of them to snap out of it, he'll get through to his brother. I vote we wake Sam. He's not as injured."

"But Dean's stubborn," Nathan cautioned. "He doesn't always listen to Sam. Has this ego…"

"It is not ego, it's protective instincts," Wade shot back, umbrage at the slight to Dean's character.

A whistle came through the phone's speakers and the hospital room fell silent enough for Strongeagle to be heard again. "Hey, before you start slapping Sam or Dean awake….you might want to consider what's best for them. They almost died so I'm not sure getting a few extra hours of zzzzzs is the worst thing for them. You know, rejuvenating their …"

To Wade's surprise Nathan cut across Strongeagle's advice with a warning.

"Don't go all zen on me, Strongeagle." And with those words, Nathan suddenly remembered Sam's cheeky advice to him to not give up his law enforcement career to get his zen master's degree. And it was a call to logic, to think things through, to not act on emotions. "But ok, we're just spit balling things and we need to keep it together. Few hours of unconsciousness won't harm them right?" he directed to Wade.

"Harm them, no, but it's not…." Wade cut off, smirked tiredly. He was going to say "normal." And wasn't that a ludicrous term to try and apply to anything Winchester related. Slinking back in the seat, he relented. "Fine. We let them chill out while we do all the worrying."

"Ok, Strongeagle, we'll keep you posted. And thanks," Nathan bade as he hung up the phone.

"Yeah, thanks for nothing," Wade muttered, startled when Nathan snapped his fingers.

"Out. Now," Nathan ordered as he pointed to the door because he sensed Wade had every intention of setting up shop in Sam's room.

"What? No, I'm visiting," Wade explained, read his friend's look of disbelief. "I'm not going to slap him awake." But Nathan's glower didn't lessen so he stood up, amended, "Singing off tune rock anthems everyone hates would not be the same as me slapping him awake."

"No, it would be worst, cruel and unusually punishment," Nathan joked, grabbing Wade by the elbow and escorting him from the room. "How about you go home, get some rest, 'cause you look worse than you did after that New Year's eve party two years ago."

The reference made Wade give his friend a wicked smile in return. "But that was soooo worth it."

"Go home. If I know you at all, every nurse has you on her speed dial and you've told them all to call you if Sam or Dean even breath off key so go," And he gave his friend a gentle shove toward the staff elevators.

Wade took a step then turned to face Nathan. "What about you?" But before Nathan cold make up an excuse, Wade surmised, "You're staying around for awhile. Who's the softie now?" Wade sing-songed as he headed for the elevators.

"You are," Nathan undertoned but he was smirking, glad that Wade was feeling up to picking on him. He was heading back to Dean's room when his phone rang. He kept walking as he answered. "Yeah, Marcus, what's the newest red alert?" he asked the police station's dispatcher, dreading that there was going to be a need for him to leave the hospital.

"Full-fledged mayhem, that's what," Marcus reported with the enthusiasm of a twenty year old who had yet to feel the weight of his responsibilities. "Fights…everywhere. Even in the booking room. Guy came in looking for his brother, starting taking pot shots at anyone that tried to stop him. Chief told me to call in everyone."

"Well, I'm on special assignment," Nathan deflected even as he doubted the Chief meant his "assignment" to keep him off the all-hands-on-deck roster. But Marcus didn't know that. Coming to a holding pattern outside Dean's door, he said, "I'll check in…" but whatever he was about to falsely promise never crossed his lips, not at the sight of a friggin' Indian decked out in animal skins and war paint standing at the end of Dean's bed, knife in hand.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for hanging out with this story! And love goes out to my awesome reviewers who enjoyed my taste for violence last chapter. (Oh I so am not good at being a girly girl.)

I hope to have the next part, which I pinky swear includes our lovely boys, up in a few days.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	23. Chapter 23

Tethered

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 23

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Coming to a holding pattern outside Dean's door, Nathan said, "I'll check in…" but whatever he was about to falsely promise never crossed his lips, not at the sight of a friggin' Indian decked out in animal skins and war paint standing at the end of Dean's bed, knife in hand.

With a "Holy Crap!", Nathan dropped the phone and reached instinctively for his gun …before he remembered ghosts couldn't be harmed by conventional bullets. Changing tactics mid-motion, he barreled into the room, determined to stop the Indian from reaching Dean's side and using the knife on the defenseless hunter. He spared a fleeting moment to wonder if he was going to collide with something real or go sailing right through the ghost and topple onto Dean's inert form.

He did neither.

The ghost, sensing his intentions, turned and with almost embarrassing ease, grabbed him by the throat and tossed him backwards. Nathan started his impromptu acrobatic act by knocking over a tray, followed it with an unimpressive full body slam into the room's west wall and finished with a graceless descent to the floor.

Struggling to draw in a breath, Nathan looked up, saw that he had effectively diverted Paytah's attention away from Dean. But his victory was bittersweet …since the pissed ghost was now heading his way and he had yet to get off the ground. Then, like the reassuring sequel of a police siren indicating backup was coming onto the scene, he heard Wade's bewildered "What the …" coming from the hallway right outside the door. '_Good Old Wade, arriving just in time to save my butt, like always,'_ he thought with staunch conviction …that fled the next second when his best friend's next words weren't a hurled curse at the monster stalking him, no, instead were a demand for ….condiments?

"Salt! I need salt!" Wade shouted a second before he grabbed the closest nurse by the shoulders, demanded, "Get me some salt, Joanne!"

But all he got back was a stammered, "Salt… Wade, I…."

'_You're not in a friggin' cafeteria_!' Wade instantly berated himself, his wild eyes starting to scan his surroundings, coaching himself to not freak out, _to think,_to do something becausePaytah was seconds away from killing Nathan and putting an end to the love/hate thing he had going on with Dean. Suddenly two words burst out of him, "Saline solution!" and snagged Joanna again. "I need a loaded syringe and…bags of saline solution. Stat!" To the nurse's credit, she didn't question his order, immediately sought out the medication and had a loaded syringe and three IV bags of the solution in his hands in less than thirty seconds.

With the diminutive weight of his weapons not doing much to bolster his confidence, Wade, none the less, entered the lion's den with a snarled, "Suck this up, Tonto!", punctured one of the bags and hurled it at Paytah. In dazed satisfaction, he watched the ghost flicker away like a bad tv reception.

Quickly crouching down by Nathan, Wade grabbed his friend by the arm, worriedly demanded, "Hey, you alright?!"

"I'll live. Help me up," Nathan wheezed, wincing but not letting a moan escape when Wade pulled his bruised arm over his shoulder and hauled them both to their feet. But the deputy's attention wasn't focused on his own discomfort. "Dean?" Nathan tentatively called out, taking a step toward the motionless man in the hospital bed, afraid that the ghost had somehow gotten to him. Wrapping a hand around Dean's wrist, he noted that, thought Dean didn't react to being touched, there weren't any new bruises or wounds on the man. Glancing up at the heart monitor, he saw it hadn't changed since his early vigil. Turning to look at Wade, he exhaled, "I so could have lived without a ghost encounter." But his joke ended up with a warning cry of "Wade, behind you!"

Though Wade spun around, syringe at the ready, Paytah, moving faster than humanly possible, grabbed Wade's syringe wielding wrist. Ghost and medic locked eyes a moment and Wade feared the worst…that he would be seeing his brother again a lot sooner than he had thought. But then Paytah flung him away, downed Nathan with a nearly jaw breaking backhanded slap and advanced toward his prey: Dean.

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Drawing closer to the elder of the brothers, Paytah spat obscenities at him, ridiculed him for his faith in his sibling. "You think because you came for your brother, that he would do the same for you! You think crossing one battlefield to gain your side earns him forgiveness, is the same as him having never betrayed you. You fool! He has let you down in the past, has cost you your very soul. And you seek to forgive him, again and again. Your weakness disgusts me. I see now that the old ones, they do not know the bite of betrayal. Like I do. Like you do. Your brother wishes to make amends with you but you can not give him what he wants most and least deserves. I forbid you to dishonor us!"

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Though he didn't understand the Indian's words, Nathan didn't need an interpreter to identify the tone: he recognized hatred in any language. With a determined growl, he pushed off the ground and put himself right between Paytah and Dean, became the only physical barrier in the way of the knife's merciless trajectory toward Dean's throat. He gritted his teeth as the knife scored a path across his shoulder, tried to push Paytah back, fearing all the while that the knife point would impale Dean even with him sandwiched between him and his attacker.

He startled as the pressing weight of Paytah suddenly vanished and liquid splashed over his face. Almost instantly, he let out a wailed "Aggghhh," and began frantically rubbing his suddenly burning eyes. "What was that!?" he menacingly whined.

Pushing off the wall to fully gain his feet, Wade boasted, "Saline solution," so proud of his ingenuity…until he noticed his friend's discomfort. "Which has a high salt content. Sorry," he contritely confessed.

"What is it with you and condiments?!" Nathan spat, feeling like Blind Pew in Treasure Island when his next simple act of shifting backwards sent a water cup tipping off the night stand and him tripping a few feet to his left. Abruptly, he realized how extraordinarily afraid he was and that, for the most part, he was not only sightless but weaponless against something unbelievably strong and straight out of a horror movie. The crap-in-your-pants kind of horror movie. "Is he going to stay gone?"

"Hasn't so far," Wade pessimistically wagered, weighing the remaining saline bag in his hand even as he scoured the floor for the lost syringe. He saw it by the door, had taken one well-meaning step in that direction when Paytah poofed right into his personal space, hissed something Wade didn't understand and then shoved him, hard. Hard enough to launch him into the air…and lose his grip on the last remaining saline bag. Then his head connected with the glass plate window that offered a half decent view that Dean wasn't up to enjoying with a resounding crack.

Hearing the Indian's speaking right before a crash resonated through the room, Nathan called out "Wade!" as his fear swiftly shifted to his friend's wellbeing. Cursing when no response came back, he fought to pry his eyes open, to do more than furiously blink but they burned too fiercely. But he knew, sight or no sight, backup or no backup, he had a job to do, needed to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. And right then, that was Dean. Backing up, he nearly tumbled back into the bed with Dean before he righted himself. Then, praying to God that he was between Dean and the threat, he raised his hand, hoped it was in the general direction of the homicidal ghost. "He's not your brother! He's not Wanikiya! And neither is Sam! You uphold the law, like I do. Then you have to dispense justice, not revenge!"

Nathan had no defense against the shove Paytah gave him, felt himself skittering across the floor, his momentum only stopping when his ribs kissed the closet door.

Half on the window sill and half off it, Wade blinked the room into focus and instantly wished he hadn't. Wanted to shut his eyes, didn't want to witness what came next because Paytah was standing right beside Dean, his knife raised. And in that second, even as he pushed off the sill, gained his feet, Wade knew he couldn't stop it, that another person he cared about would die while he did nothing but watch. "Dean! Wake Up!" he screamed even as he knew it was a useless wish, that even if the wounded man woke up that second, it would only be to see his murderer, to feel the mortal wound as it was being inflicted.

But then an avenging angel swept into the room and intervened.

Inexplicably, Sam was suddenly there, in the room, arms circling around Paytah and his hand capturing the hilt of the knife and freezing it's downward plunge toward his vulnerable brother's heart. "Get away from my brother!" he snarled as he stabbed Paytah's neck with Wade's lost syringe and sent the salt surging through the deadman's veins.

Howling in agony, Paytah dispersed into ash.

But without Paytah's solid form to hold onto, Sam toppled forward, ended up sprawled across Dean's legs. For a stunned second, he didn't move and then he remembered. With a cry of anguished frustration, he shoved himself off his brother and the bed, didn't even try to brace his clumsy fall to the floor, was too terrified at the very real possibility that he had just seared another burn into Dean's skin to worry about himself.

"Wade, check if he's burned!" he breathlessly insisted without shifting his anxious gaze from his brother.

Urgently drawing up beside Dean, Wade spared a moment to steady himself for more bad news before he pulled back the sheets covering Dean's legs.

"Is he burned?" Sam anxiously asked from his position on the floor and when Wade didn't answer quickly enough, he nearly shouted, "Is he alright?!" his tone ignited with increasing fear and broadcasting that he was on the verge of losing control.

"No. I mean yes. He's Ok," Wade stammered in happy awe as he finished his examination. But he left his hand resting on Dean's shin as he declared, "He's not burned," needing the contact with the other man's cool, healthy skin to make the statement, to truly believe it.

"Don't lie to me!" Sam rancorously warned, couldn't stand to be coddled, not about this, not when it was about Dean's wellbeing. What he needed was the truth, and if he had brought more pain to Dean, he deserved to bear that guilt.

Wade gave a comforting pat to Dean's leg then turned around, his gaze dropping compassionately upon the dejected figure of Sam sitting on the floor of the room. "Sam, I'm not lying. You didn't hurt him. There are no burns," he earnestly vowed, eyes holding Sam's, praying the man believed him because Dean wouldn't want his brother spending a _second_ drowning in guilt, would feel the same way even if he was sporting a new burn at his brother's touch.

Coming to a crouch, Wade reached for Sam but halted mid-motion when he saw the other man's almost undetectable flinch at the pending contact. "Come on…see for yourself," he encouraged. Noting a lessening in Sam's wariness, he reached out again, slipped his hand under Sam's elbow this time and helped the wounded man to his feet. Though Sam didn't sway, Wade kept his supportive grip on his elbow.

Surprisingly, Sam didn't immediately close in the distance to his brother, instead stood frozen where he was, his fearful eyes inspecting Dean's unscathed legs. Wade didn't prod Sam forward, let Sam go at his own pace and when, a minute later, he finally made his first move toward Dean, he aided him. "You touched him here," reaching out, Wade laid his hand on Dean's knee, "and there's nothing, Sam. No burn, no heat," proved his point by leaving his hand right where it was. "His skin's not even red." Then facing Sam, he forcibly declared, "You didn't hurt him, Sam."

Wanting, _needing_ to believe what he was seeing, what Wade was saying, Sam swallowed and stretched out his hand toward Dean, let it hover just over Dean's knee where Wade's own hand had been a moment ago. Logically, Sam catalogued the evidence, knew that he hadn't been shocked when he entered Dean's hospital room, hadn't felt any jolts when he landed on the bed, on _Dean_. If his part of the curse was gone, it made sense that he would no longer hurt Dean simply by touching him.

So, with half a prayer, Sam lowered his hand and laid a feather light touch upon Dean's shin. He closed his eyes in knee-bending relief when no red blistering burn appeared in the wake of his fingers as they skimmed down his brother's leg.

At Sam's side, Wade quietly conjectured, "Whatever you two did in your drugged, dreamscape…"

"…the curse, it's gone," Sam said in wonder and elation, his shining eyes opening and slipping up from Dean to Wade.

Wade couldn't hold back a stupid smile. "Looks like it." And he couldn't remember a victory that felt this overwhelmingly rewarding to him. After all the lives he had saved, being a part of saving Dean, of saving Sam, of getting the two brothers back together, it finally patched up some of the fissures that Oliver's death had scored into his soul.

A voice drifted up from the floor. "Not to ruin the good vibes but…blind guy in agony down here," Nathan reminded, a painful hiss to his words as he attempted again to open his eyes and failed.

"Oh crap, sorry," Wade sheepishly replied, almost released Sam to go to Nathan before he remembered Sam's physical state. "Why don't you take a seat…" he directed to Sam was going to lead him to the room's only upright chair but Sam made a move of his own: toward Dean.

Hobbling forward, Sam did a small turn and hopped up to claim a seat on the side of Dean's bed at his brother's waist. Then he gave Wade a see-to-him gesture toward Nathan.

Gauging that Sam wasn't going to pitch off the bed, Wade went to Nathan, snorted when his best friend jumped at his touch. "Chill, scaredy-cat it's just me," he said with a chuckle then he helped Nathan to his feet for the second time that day. "Let's get the salt out of your eyes."

"Fantastic idea," Nathan agreed as he let Wade start to lead him from the carnage of the room. He wasn't sure how his ghost sparring would rank in the annuals of horror movies but what he did know was that there were two brothers still breathing, and that was worth the nightmares to come.

But Sam's words stopped them before they could cross the room's threshold. "We need to salt the windows…the doorway."

Turning both himself and Nathan around, Wade quested disheartened, "He's not gone?" to which Sam gave a grim shake of his head.

"'Kay," Wade conceded then he ordered of Nathan, "Hold up a minute." Leaving his friend's side, he scooped the saline bag off the ground and tossed it to Sam, who deftly caught it. "I'll be back in a bit."

Sam simply gave a wave to the medic then watched as the twosome made their way out the door.

Left alone with Dean, Sam finally had the freedom to turn his full focus on his brother. What he found wasn't exactly making him cheer. Dean's freckles were too stark on his brother's pale complexion, the tempo of Dean's breathing indicated unconsciousness, not sleep, and the heart monitor lines spoke of strain. With a hand that trembled a bit, he reached up, cupped Dean's face, grimaced at the cold clamminess of his brother's skin that came when his body had suffered a trauma. '_Like an arrow burrowing into his side_,' Sam grimly recounted before he forced himself to pull his hand away.

Pulling back Dean's bedcovers, he saw the white bandages coiling around his brother's waist. He skimmed his hand above the wound he knew they concealed, where the arrow had been lodged. He thanked God that no blood was seeping through the dressing because Dean's blood wasn't something he could handle right then, not after the vision's happenings were still imprinted on his psyche.

His head jerked up and his hand sought out the saline bag when a sound caught his attention. But it was only Wade, returning with a salt canister.

"You want me to circle the bed or…"

"Doorway and windows will do," Sam advised, watched intently as Wade performed the task, wasn't expecting the next statement.  
"I gave orders for everyone to not disburse the salt line. Now I'll go put the same salt lines in your room," Wade stated, was stepping over the line of salt to make his exit when Sam spoke.

"I'm staying here."

Wade knew he should have seen that coming. "Sam.." he began to reason, had enough medical factoids to make Sam dizzy. Never mind that he was the one voting to slap Sam awake less than half an hour ago. "You're hurt…"

"I'm not leaving him, Wade," the conviction in Sam's declaration was louder than any shout and there was steely resolve in his eyes as they clashed with Wade's. But sensing the medic's complaint was rooted in concern for Dean, for even him, Sam tenderly picked up Dean's hand, clasped it in his own and raised their interlinked hands for Wade to see. "This, us being able to touch without burns or shocks, we broke the curse because Dean and I refused to stay apart. That's our weapon against Paytah. And besides, he's gunning for Dean…not me."

"For the moment. Guy runs hot and cold…well, no, just hot," Wade rambled but sighed as Sam didn't seem to budge one iota. "Fine. We'll move you both to a different room, **together.**"

"This room's fine," Sam replied mildly, like he didn't see the broken tray, the crack in the window, the walls that would need some dry wall fix ups to hide a few dents.

"You can't…" But Wade gave up with a wave of his hand. "Why am I wasting my breath? You'd just go AWOL again from your bed to get back to his side, wouldn't you. By the way, how did you do it?"

Sam brow furrowed in confusion. "Do what?"

"Oh, I don't know…be dead to the world where a marching band wouldn't have made you blink five minutes ago then coming tearing into Dean's room in time to save him?"

Sam floundered for a moment. He didn't usually have to explain his and Dean's in-the-nick-of-time saves, it was just what they did for each other. "I …jolted awake, heart racing, just knew that …" he hesitated, wasn't sure he wanted to open up to the medic but then he saw the way Wade's face fell, knew the man deserved more than to be shut out. "… knew that Dean needed me. Then I heard a crash…"

Wade gave a small mischievous smile. "And you knew that Dean would be at the center of whatever was happening."

Sam gave a weak, bittersweet chuckle. "Yeah. He usually is." But then his eyes drifted anxiously to his unmoving brother. "How badly is he hurt? I know about the arrow wound…"

"Arrow?" Wade incredulously repeated before giving up thinking logically and simply nodded his head. "That explains the mystery of his wound…well only to someone who believes in visions, ghosts, and a whole lot of other weird occurrences." But seeing Sam's intense look, he got back to the younger brother's question. "He's going to be Ok. He lost ... a lot of blood," he guiltily admitted, knew that was his failure to deal with. "But no major tears internally were discovered, thank God. As for why he hasn't gained consciousness…well I guess for the same reasons you weren't coming out of it." But then he tilted his head in contemplation. "You'd think Paytah here, tossing us around, ready to slit his throat would have been danger enough to jolt him awake, same as you."

But Sam gave a bitter smile. "If the danger had been to me…yeah. But to himself…." and he looked to his brother with a tangle of affection and reprimand on his features. "Jerk thinks self-sacrifice is a big brother's job."

"It's not," Wade almost harshly countered, shifted nervously on his feet when Sam gave him a surprised look. "Well, I'm gonna go. Nathan's eyes are better but he still took a beating, might need a lollipop after the doctors are done with him. But if you need me, have a nurse page me."

A second after Wade disappeared out the door, Sam called out, "Wade, wait!"

The medic stuck his head back in. Interpreting Sam's next words, he headed them off with a brassy smirk. "Nope, I'm only going to accept gratitude from Dean. I want him to get on his knees and profusely thank me for protecting his lazy behind."

Sam snorted. "Good luck getting that." Then Wade winked at him and dodged back out of the room.

With the medic's departure, Sam turned back to Dean and let out a weary breath at the sight of his yet again wounded brother. No matter how many times he found himself here, it never got any easier, seeing Dean pale, unresponsive, in a hospital bed. "You can wake up now, all the hard work's done," he teased, wished it was that easy to rouse Dean, to heal him. Tightening his grip on his brother's hand, he settled their joint hands down to rest on his knee. "I know you would probably make fun of me for saying this but…I took this for gratitude. How close we spend our lives: sharing cars, motel rooms, diner booths. How often we pass weapons, beer bottles…burritos to each other," he said with a smirk that soon dimmed. "And I know, all the crap we've been through, it's probably easy for you to think I don't value what we have between us, have always had between us, even the times when we've been royally pissed at each other. But I do."

When that speech didn't earn him Dean's typical huff of 'my little brother's such a chick' response, Sam rasped, "Man, I allow you closer than I ever did Dad. I kept Bobby at a distance, made Jessica pass a thousand and one loyalty tests before I even told her my favorite movie." He left a beat of silence fall, hoped Dean would fill it, tease him for his choice, but he didn't. "Chariots of Fire is an awesome movie. You'd know it too if you didn't always fall asleep within the first half an hour," he defended but Dean's lack of response was harder to take than he was prepared for. It had him biting his lip and swallowing down the lump in his throat, before giving a laugh that cracked. "Come on, you're not going to let some 'dances with wolves' reenactment keep you down. That would be unworthy of you, dude. Not to mention reflect badly on me."

A sudden knock on wood had him looking up to see a doctor standing on the room's threshold. "Yeah, come in. Check on him. Just watch…" but he realized the warning wasn't necessary when the doctor made a careful step over the salt line before crossing to the bed.

"Actually, I'm here to see to you," the bespectacled, forty year old man countered. "I'm your doctor. Wade said you woke up, right away tracked down your FBI colleague and now are refusing to budge from his side."

"I'm not…" Sam began to heatedly protest but the doctor cut him off.

"Yeah, Wade already told me that getting you back to your own room wasn't going to happen. So how about you take a seat in the chair and let me look you over and put a bandage on that IV puncture site so you stop bleeding on your partner," the doctor said, nodding to the blood dripping from Sam's hand onto Dean's.

Half wanting to curse Wade for his interference, Sam gave a measuring look to Dean. Seeing that his brother wasn't up to protesting his staying or his going, he reluctantly released Dean's hand and sat down in the chair the doctor was indicating. Didn't give one reaction when the doctor carefully began pulling away the bandage on his shoulder, touched the stitches in his flesh.

Relieved that the stitches to his patient's shoulder were intact, the doctor crouched down, began checking the wound on the man's right bicep, hoping for the same good news. "I don't think I need to tell you it was foolish getting out of bed, walking on this leg," he quietly admonished before he noted the dent in the wall, did a small head turn to take in the rest of the room…the thoroughly trashed room. It made him suddenly reapply the bandage on the man's arm wound and come to a stand…a few feet's distance from his patient. "Wade..he said…well that you .. got a little out of hand when he tried to get you to leave," and the doctor's eyes scanned the room's disarray again before he nervously placated, "But I'm not going to make you leave, ok. So just…stay calm."

"What? Wade said I did this to the room?!" Sam indignantly exclaimed but a moment later, he had to fight hard to hold back a smile. The sly medic had found a way to not only explain the room's devastation but to ensure that none of the staff would dare try to oust him from the room. Playing along with Wade's rouse, he said with a pout, "Well…only because he said I couldn't stay, that visiting hours weren't yet."

"No…no, you can stay," the doctor quickly reassured with a trembling pat to Sam's arm before he taped a cubed bandage to the back of his patient's bleeding hand. "But would it be OK if I got you back on antibiotics, put in another IV?" he asked, like he was trying to gain permission from a wild animal to tend to its wound.

Sam curtly nodded, was willing to accept whatever help was offered if he could get some of his strength back, and fast. Because there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that the second Dean opened his eyes, his brother would be chewing at the bit to face off with Paytah. But he wasn't going to let Dean rush into that confrontation, had every intention of holding Dean back, keeping Dean right where he was, in the hospital bed, so the jerk could heal up. Trouble was, he feared that feat might take a lot more than words to accomplish. A whole lot more.

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With a new IV tethering his hand to an IV pole positioned beside his chair, a blanket tossed over his shoulders, courtesy of Nathan, (who had red rimmed eyes and was moving stiffly but was in one piece), and with the certainty that no one was going to broach the subject of him leaving Dean's side, Sam simply had the loathsome task of sitting back in the chair and waiting for Dean to wake up.

Dean's doctor had passed on the same information that Wade had, that Dean was stable, his wound had been deep but had miraculous only resulted in a few slight internal tears, the poison from the death camas had been neutralized and his vitals where good. Dean's unconsciousness, however, had the doctor baffled and Sam didn't try and enlighten him. It was bad enough Wade had implied he was someone with serious anger issues, he would certainly be fitted for a straightjacket, _again_, if he started rambling on about visions, ghosts and brotherly curses.

So instead he had just docilely nodded when the doctor listed an MRI among some other tests that they could run if Dean didn't become responsive in the next few hours.

So the day drug on, with Sam having to intermittently jerk his head up and snap his eyes open when they slid shut at their own accord. Scooting the chair closer to the bed, he wrapped his hand around Dean's wrist and propped an elbow on Dean's mattress so he could rest his chin in the palm of his hand and still keep his vigil over his brother's slack features. He didn't know when his head traded up being propped up by his palm to resting on Dean's thigh, just startled awake in that position when something jostled his head slightly.

He didn't expect to lock eyes with Dean's lucid gaze. Instantly he sat up. "Hey, how are you?" he gently asked as his hand fastening more possessively around his brother's wrist.

"Depends. I still have my scalp?" Dean huskily asked, a twinkle making an appearance in his eyes.

Sam couldn't hold back a goofy smile. "Most of it," he laughingly replied.

Not sparing a look away from his brother, Dean nonchalantly posed, "You have a party in here, Sammy? You know we have to pay for things we break."

"Paytah," Sam grimly announced, didn't find one thing mirthful about how close the ghost had gotten to almost killing his brother.

"So, he's still pissed?" Dean exhaled, like that truth wasn't so much a disappointment but a foregone conclusion. But before Sam could answer, his brother's eyes narrowed, lanced into Sam's. "Why aren't you in your own hospital bed? Your shoulder.." And Dean reached out then, lightly touched the bandage on his brother's shoulder. "How bad is it? Any muscle damage? Will you need physical thera…"

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam mollified with an affectionate smile. "You're the one who's been out of it all day. Had an arrow in his side."

And before Sam could stop him, Dean reached down to his side, as if he expected the arrow to still be there. But he groaned in agony and pressed back into the bed, didn't need Sam's hand on his shoulder to tell him moving had not been one of us most thought out plans. But he didn't hate the contact, the anchoring weight of Sam's hand on his shoulder, needed it to work through the pain. And then it registered with him: Sam was touching him…and there was no additional pain.

When Dean's eyes suddenly flew up, met his, Sam almost panicked, thought Dean's pain was overwhelming him…until Dean spoke. "You're touching me."

Sam's features lightened instantly as he followed Dean's line of thought. "Yeah, your days of personal space are all in the past." And he doubted Dean knew just how true that was going to turn out to be because he had absolutely no plans to let Dean out of his sight for a good long while.

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "The vision, whatever we did, whatever happened in there…"

"…broke Paytah's curse on us," Sam declared a bit solemnly, especially since achieving it had almost cost Dean his life.

Dean's cocksure smile was a welcome sight even if Dean was still entirely too pale for Sam's peace of mind. "No wonder he's pissed enough to make house calls."

And Sam easily detected the blatant pride in his brother's brag, pride in his little brother's plan. '_The one earned him an arrow wound and almost got him scalped and murdered by Indians. Yeah, my plans aren't suicidal like I accuse Dean's of being.' _But the time of taking foolish risks was over, had to be if he didn't want to lose his brother. "Yeah, well, there are salt lines at the door and windows of your room to make sure he doesn't make an encore visit."

"What? No, what we need to do is stage an intervention," Dean emphatically announced, feeling an urgency to confront Paytah, to set things right before Sam became a casualty of the Indian brothers' miscommunication. With more determination than sense, he began to sit up again but even that seemingly insignificant movement caused agony to blossom from his side, had his breath hitching in his lungs and his vision tunneling.

Recognizing that he needed a better position of power if he hoped to supersede Dean's stubbornness, Sam slipped out of his chair and claimed a seat on the hospital bed at Dean's hip. Pushing on Dean's shoulder with his hand, he pressed Dean back into the bed, used his soothing, I-might-be-the-little-brother-but-I-still-know-how-to-take-care-of-you tone, "Easy. Easy, Dean. You've got to lie still. We're both safe here. Now we need to stage a what?!"

Dean attempted to draw in a steadying breath, tried to not let Sam see the pain he was in, wanted…needed to distance himself from the memories of the vision, of the realness of it, of Sam being hurt, vulnerable, about to be murdered and he had been utterly helpless to stop it. But he wasn't such a great actor after all, apparently couldn't fool Sam because his brother's other hand slipped around the left side of his neck and gave it a reassuring squeeze…like their Dad used to, was his way of showing affection. Not to mention his baby brother was giving him that worried, protective look.

"Hey, it's Ok, Dean," Sam gently declared, needed Dean to know that he was there, that he wasn't looking for him to be invincible. Without sparing a look at the heart monitor, he knew that Dean's heart rate was increasing, could feel Dean's panicked pulse under his left hand. "We can talk about this later, after they up your pain meds and you get some rest." Because he hated feeling the rigidness in Dean's body that spoke of pain and seeing the darkness in his brother's eyes that screamed emotional trauma.

But Dean rolled his head on the pillow in refusal, had to tell Sam what he had learned. "Sam, Wanikiya, he didn't betray Paytah. He was coming back to his big bro when the Indians…the bad Indians attacked. We tell Paytah that and …"

"He apologizes to us, goes off to merrily play cowboys and Indians with his brother in the hereafter?!" Sam sarcastically quipped, pulling his hand from Dean's neck. But he immediately regretted his tone when his brother's eyes sparked with hurt and dropped down to stare at the IV in his hand. Running a hand down his face, Sam let out a tired breath, made sure his voice was gentle, careful when he spoke next. "Dean, I don't see Paytah being that forgiving. It won't matter to him that Wanikiya was coming back. His brother left him and that's all he cares about."

Dean's brow furrowed and he gave Sam a look of objection. "Yeah, Sam. He will care."

"No, Dean. _**You**_ care," Sam quietly admonished, could see that Dean wasn't getting it, was somehow thinking Paytah was the caliber of big brother that he was. Truth was, Sam didn't think there was anyone out there who could give Dean a run for his money in the brother department. "_You_ cared that I came back to you. And you always forgive me, no matter what crap I pull. But, Dean…Paytah, he's…"

"A vengeful spirit? Come on, Sam, some of them accept reason," Dean disputed.

Sam's gaze slid from Dean's, knew part of what was prompting Dean's defense. "Like you think Bobby will, right?" he gently prodded, but it was Dean who turned his head then and wouldn't meet his gaze. "That Bobby's around and he's helping us."

"Sam, not this again," Dean mumbled, suddenly felt claustrophobic with Sam's closeness.

Sensing that, Sam pulled his hand free of Dean, slid off the bed and reclaimed the visitor's chair but even that small physical distance between them felt like a punishment. "Paytah…what I was going to say about him was he's not like you, Dean. He's not going to forgive Wanikiya. And it's not about him being a vengeful spirit. I watched him during the attack, Paytah, he fought with rage, not just at the Ojibway but at Wanikiya."

"Because he thought his brother betrayed him, wasn't coming back," Dean insisted, just knew that the truth changed things, had to. "He hates on brothers who leave town…well Wanikiya didn't leave. Was right…." Dean broke off, a surety settling in him.

Leaning closer to Dean, Sam worriedly prompted, "Dean, what is it?"

Dean rolled his head to meet Sam's gaze, "He never crossed the town limits."

"Who? Wanikiya? How do you know?"

"I…I was there and I just…know Sam. He never passed by the cave and he ended up dying only a half mile from the village," Dean reported.

"No, that can't be right. Strongeagle said that the shaman had a vision that if Wanikiya left the village, he would be dooming the tribe to death," Sam recounted, had no reason to believe Strongeagle was wrong on that point.

"That doesn't even make sense," Dean huffed. "What, the bad Indians got a telegram saying Wanikiya was heading out for parts unknown and decided their odds were now miraculously in their favor and attacked?! Come on, Sam! You were there. One more warrior or ten, it wouldn't have changed the outcome. The Sioux were going to be annihilated….whether Wanikiya was in the village or not."

Sam couldn't refute Dean's logic, ended up fighting back a smile.

But apparently he wasn't successful because Dean caught him at it.

"What's funny?" Dean gruffly demanded.

Smirking and shaking his head, Sam confessed happily, "You." But at his brother's hurt scowl he quickly explained, "No, I mean Strongeagle told me all this stuff and I processed it from one angle and then you come in and turn everything upside down, see things I didn't, couldn't. You and I are just…."

"Different," Dean lowly admitted, sorrow and regret in his tone.

"Yeah but in a good way," Sam clarified with a fond smile at his brother. "We don't always agree…" At Dean's sarcastic glare he amended, "Ok, so we bicker sometimes and we see things from different vantages but it works. _We_ work. And us going solo, either because we choose to or circumstances force us to…it's never great."

Instead of agreeing with Sam's declaration, Dean remained silent, seemed to be studying his brother, maybe making sure he wasn't a shapeshifter or possessed because that tended to be the only time when the people he loved said nice things to him.

Sam shifted nervously in his seat, feared he had gone too far…or not far enough. "So what…you got nothing to say to that?" But when Dean started to open his mouth, he found he feared what his brother would say more than wanted to hear it so he spoke before Dean could. "I know, I'm the one who leaves, not you. And every time I did, deep down, I always knew it was a stupid move but I…

"You're not the only one who has a habit of leaving, remember?" Dean reminded, gave a small bittersweet smile. "Guess we need to face it: It's a family trait. Mom wanted to get out of the hunting life, was planning on bailing on her family, Dad's dad skedaddled when he was just a kid, you left for Stanford, Dad left me high and dry, I ditched you for the hunt, for Micheal's promises and for Lisa and …"

"But you came back, Dean," Sam interjected with admiration. "You always came back. Because I asked you to, because I needed you. You even came back from Hell."

"I had a little help there…" Dean pointed out but immediately he tried to not think of Cas, of the bond he and the angel had once shared, that he sometimes allowed himself to miss.

But Sam wasn't going to let Dean downplay his devotion to him. "Unlike soulless me, you didn't let me go on thinking you were still dead, you came and found me and stuck with me, through it all, Ruby, Lilith, opening the cage…."

But Dean's face fell, was tinted with shame. "I almost gave up on you, would have if Bobby didn't knock some sense into me. So don't pin the medal on me, Sam."

For a moment, Sam was stunned and then he shook his head, deemed with a determined set to his jaw, "Good thing then that '_almost_' doesn't count." And on its heels, he sent up a '_Thanks Bobby'_ to his surrogate father for his timely intervention, for making sure he didn't forever lose his brother's love.

"Now who's the altruistic one?" Dean taunted, hoped to cover up how much his brother's forgiveness meant to him.

"Altruistic? Altruistic?" Sam repeated, eyebrows raised in mock awe. "Big word for a guy who's been conscious all of five minutes. No actually, that word's miraculous coming from you at all.

"Shud up," Dean laughingly shot back.

With Dean's simple, childish comeback, Sam felt the fear and tension that had clung to him flee. He and Dean were Ok and they were going to stay that way. But he tilted his head in confusion when he noticed his brother was giving him an assessing look. "What?"

Dean shook his head but his smirk was mocking. "Nothing…just…right now, with that blanket over your shoulders like a shawl, you look more like a squaw than a warrior. Not that I didn't totally dig the shirtless heathen look you were sporting in the vision. Very GQ for the times."

"You shut up," Sam laughingly ordered. "Besides, I wouldn't talk. You were going the redneck routine."

"Was not," Dean shot back, actually pretty proud of his Indian getup.

"Dean, you had a dead squirrel around your neck," Sam pointed out to his sometimes naive brother.

"It was a fox…I think," Dean's belief dimming now that he was remembering his cloak's dead beady eyes.

But Sam was shaking his head and smirking. "Nope. It wasn't."

"Ok, that's so not cool," Dean muttered, face screwing up in disgust.

"Tell me about it," Sam seriously agreed.

Holding each other's eyes, they only managed to hold back their chuckles for a few seconds. Though it left them both wincing in pain, laughing, being together, it felt good. Right. Like few things had since Bobby's death.

Suddenly Paytah didn't seem so invincible to Sam, not when he knew that the next time he and Dean met their adversary, it would be as a united front. Them against him. And those odds, Sam would take any day of the week.

But him getting Dean to stay in the hospital overnight? Those odds he didn't trust. Was why he was going to stack the deck by making two phone calls first chance he got: one to Wade and the other to Nathan.

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Tbc

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Thanks for the wonderful reviews on last chapter. You guys were so unbelievably gracious about having to wait for your Sam and Dean time! And thanks as always for reading this story.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


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